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The house is eerily quiet when they enter, eerily empty as Aiden takes it all in. Other than that, everything is exactly the same as he remembers: the same steps squeaking under their feet as they climb the stairs leading to the house, the same layout of the kitchen sans the pots and pans hanging over the window, the same marks on the wall by the stairs to mark Harvard’s growth.
The same Harvard who is dropping his keys on the kitchen counter unceremoniously.
“Thanks for helping with this,” he says, turning to Aiden with the same earnestness that has kept Aiden here for all of these years. “I know you’ve got better ways to spend your weekend.”
“So do you,” Aiden teases. And then, because he can’t help it, “You went on a date right before we got back. Surely you haven’t forgotten already.”
Harvard only laughs, a low sound that dissolves most of the bitterness in Aiden’s chest. He drops his head, feeling unworthy of his oblivious friend.
“I’m glad you asked me,” he says quietly with his gaze still averted.
Harvard’s laughter slows to a halt, and he quirks one curious eyebrow.
“Because of what Coach said,” he rushes to add. “About you needing to be selfish and ask for help instead of just helping everyone else.”
“It’s easier with you. You’re not just a teammate to me. You’re my best friend.”
Aiden chastises his racing heart. “Right.”
The kitchen and living room are entirely cleared out, Harvard’s parents having done most of the work themselves in the weeks leading up to now. Aiden can almost see the sofa that he and Harvard used to watch cartoons on in the center of the room, giggling with childlike glee while Harvard’s dad made them popcorn. Stripped of all of the furniture, it’s only the memories that allow Aiden to see the room as the living room that it once was.
As Harvard goes through all of the drawers and cabinets in the kitchen to make sure his parents have not forgotten anything, Aiden placates himself with the fact that no one new to Harvard’s life will ever share these memories of this home. No matter who captures Harvard’s heart in the long run, he and Aiden will always share a childhood full of memories.
“So we’ve got the house to ourselves until…?”
“Until the new family arrives unless we need help,” Harvard answers, his head ducked into the pantry. “Mom and Dad are setting up the new house.”
Aiden pulls himself to sit on the counter while Harvard moves to check the fridge. “I can’t remember the last time we were alone in your house together. We should hang out at your house more. Like we did in elementary school.”
“Don’t you have suitors taking up every one of your weekends until graduation?”
“Ha ha,” he monotones, rolling his eyes. “You know I would drop every one of them if you asked.”
The smile this statement produces is unanticipated but very welcome. Harvard, still smiling softly, offers a hand to help Aiden off of the countertop. “I know.”
His hand, the unnecessary aid, is warm under Aiden’s, calloused from years training with an épée yet soft from semi-frequent lotioning to prevent dry knuckles. They’re too close by the time Aiden is back on his feet, too close even by their standards. Harvard steps back, hand coming to the back of his neck like it always does when he’s uncomfortable.
Aiden tries to act like it’s not a slap in the face.
He casually makes his way to the pencil marks ascending the wall like the rungs of a ladder, allows himself to run his fingers over the graphite and smile at the dates. Ducking down, he can see the earlier marks with multiple dates beside them. They’re times where little-Harvard begged to be re-measured because of a bet made with little-Aiden.
The fact that he has known Harvard for every one of those years aside from the ones whose fading has turned them indecipherable makes him smile. He looks up to see that Harvard followed him and is looking at the dashes with a similar grin. He stands up and points to one of the lower marks.
“I can’t even remember you being this short.”
“Because you were even shorter,” Harvard asserts. “You enjoy peeking over my shoulder so much that you refuse to grow.”
“I do not peek over your shoulder,” Aiden argues, pushing hair out of his face. “You have an inch or two on me, max.”
Harvard’s grin is more of a smirk. “I think it’s more than that now.”
“I’ve got another growth spurt coming on. I can feel it.”
“Whatever you need to tell yourself to get to graduation.”
Aiden freezes, arms still crossed over his chest. These are still the early days of senior year, but the shadow of graduation has been lurking just around the corner since they started high school and has only grown nearer and nearer. All the posturing and fronting in the world can’t hide his anxiety regarding it.
Not from Harvard, who knows him so well.
“Let’s go upstairs,” he says, an offer to push the dark cloud off for just a while longer. Aiden accepts quickly.
He pulls himself back together with every step, finding the fun and confident guy that everyone likes to be around and successfully emulating him by the time they reach Harvard’s room. Harvard knows him well, but there are some parts that even he would not like to see.
If everything downstairs had been the skeleton of a house he remembers so well, this is like walking into the past and greeting an old friend again.
Nothing has changed from when he helped Harvard pack for Kings Row. Every framed photo is in its rightful place on the wall. The shag rug is the exact faded orange that visits him in his dreams.
“Well, if it isn’t the room where I had my first kiss.”
Harvard bumps into him, a gentle shoulder check. “ Our first kiss,” he corrects playfully. With the same emphasis they used when joking while studying Marxism in history class. Except this is not Harvard trying to claim something that belongs to Aiden but rather Harvard reminding Aiden of something that belongs to both of them. Another shared memory.
“Oh, you’re counting it now?”
“Don’t be a dick. Not everyone finds it as easy to come to terms with their sexuality as you did,” he says as he takes a seat on his bed with a stack of miscellaneous papers in his hand.
Aiden lifts a rubber band ball off of the desk. “You certainly seemed to come to terms with it pretty quickly when Marcel asked you out.”
A momentary pause. Aiden doesn’t dare look up from the colorful bands. “I’d been,” Harvard says with some hesitation, “contemplating for a while.” Aiden looks up, surprised in a way that must look disbelieving. “Don’t tease me. You know how things with Marcel ended.”
Aiden steadies himself enough to set the ball down and sit on the bed beside his closest friend. “Oh, come on,” he says and nudges Harvard with his elbow. “If I don’t tease you about that, I won't have anything to tease you about at all. Whereas I’m such an easy target.”
Frowning, Harvard says, “You’re not an easy target.”
“Coach had to make it against the rules for fencers to mention that I dumped them.”
Harvard shrugs. “Yeah, but you like hooking up with a lot of guys. It’s no secret that you’re allergic to commitment.”
Aiden hardly thinks it’s fair that a man whose relationships never last longer than a few months should be the one to lecture him about commitment. “I’m not allergic to commitment. I just know what I want, and I’m not willing to settle for less. Yet.”
“Sorry… I just figured,” he trails off as Aiden watches him, distantly wary.
“I sleep around a lot because it’s fun, but,” Aiden explains, pushing his hair back. “I’m always upfront about my expectations. They know that I don’t want a relationship. It’s not my fault that they delude themselves into thinking otherwise.”
Harvard looks at him as if he can see through the blasé attitude. Aiden prays that it’s not true.
“Hey,” he says, unnecessarily tender as he touches Aiden’s shoulder. “I was never blaming you for that. I know it’s not your fault.”
It’s nearly impossible to act detached when Harvard looks at him like he’s the only thing in the room and touches him like he would shatter under any pressure at all. He breaks eye contact for fear of breaking his façade.
“Perfect, perfect Harvard Lee,” he says, falsely indifferent as he traces an invisible pattern onto his jeans. “How is it that your prolific dating life has not yet produced a long term partner? We spent so long practicing our kissing with each other, so that can’t be the issue. Who is the lucky person that gets to enjoy what I worked so hard to perfect?”
Harvard begins sorting the papers in his hand into two piles. “I’m too busy to seriously date anyone this year. Being team captain is more time consuming than I expected.”
“Right… Well, keep up the good work. Freshman One and Freshman Two need the leadership. I still can’t believe we walked in on them fighting. They should know to put a sock on the door or at least lock it now that they’re dating.”
Harvard scoffs. “Bold of you to say. How many times have I walked in on you having sex?”
Aiden turns to face him, eyebrows raised inquisitively. “Good question, actually. How many times have you walked in on me actively sleeping with someone?”
“I— Well, I’ve never walked in on that, but—”
“Exactly. I don’t sleep with guys in our room.” Except for Harvard, and that is only through a technicality. Sadly.
“The guy you kicked out a few weeks ago was carrying his pants.”
“That wasn’t—” Aiden has no idea how to explain that one in a way that does not come off incredibly pathetic. “It wasn’t like that.”
The papers rustle in Harvard’s hands. “You never answered my question from that day.”
“Which day?”
“When we walked in on Nicholas and Seiji fighting.”
“Oh, right,” Aiden says and nods. “That question.”
“So…?”
Aiden shifts on the bed, pulling one leg up to wrap an arm lazily around one knee. “I didn’t throw the match,” he confesses. “Nicholas is better than I anticipated, and he’s fast as all hell, too. I lost. Don’t tell anyone.”
Harvard’s dark brown eyes are wide as he takes in Aiden’s words. Then his face splits into a smile. “Your fans wouldn’t believe me anyway.”
He looks down at a paper that he has been holding for a while, undecided on whether it belongs in the keep or toss pile. Aiden peeks over at the page to see an old test from a few years ago, some final exam that Harvard spent ages agonizing about between helping his other (less cool) friends study. Aiden doesn’t remember the test itself, just the stress that radiated off of Harvard despite the time Aiden spent trying to calm him down.
“You called me perfect, but you’re the perfect one. You’re handsome and charming and intelligent. You can get so far without even needing to apply yourself.”
Aiden forces himself to ignore the compliments, putting them in his back pocket to savor at a later time. “And you can get even further by putting your mind to it.”
Harvard looks up at him with a sincerity that never fails to leave Aiden breathless. “You could be unstoppable if you actually tried, Aiden. Your sixth sense for understanding opponents is exactly what we need when going up against Exton.”
He waves a hand in front of his face, as if waving the thought away. “I’m never going to go pro. You, on the other hand, can do anything you put your mind to. I’ll always be by your side cheering you on.”
“I wish you would be by my side when we have matches, too.”
“You don’t need me. Not with Super Prodigy on your team now. You guys crushed it against MLC without me being there.”
A beat of heavy silence. “We would have lost without you, Aiden. We would have lost if you hadn’t texted me, and it would have been my fault. The freshmen are fantastic, but even if they don’t need you beside them, I do. I need you.”
Aiden can only stare at him, eyes wide and lips parted. In the silence, the sound of Harvard’s old clock makes itself known. It’s almost futile to prevent himself from glancing down at Harvard’s lips. The days of practice kissing seem so far behind them, and while Aiden’s young, yearning heart enjoyed every moment of their lips pressed together, he wishes he had memorized the moment more. He can’t quite remember what Harvard’s lips felt like under his fingers when they pulled apart to breathe and laugh awkwardly. He can’t recall whether Harvard touched his cheeks or kept his hands determinedly by his sides.
In a movement that must be designed to give Aiden a heart attack, Harvard shifts forward and slides his hand into Aiden’s hair, pushing it out of his face before allowing his hand to come down to Aiden’s shoulder. It brushes his cheek on its way there, forcing the air out of Aiden’s lungs.
“Maybe I should exert my authority over you as Captain.”
Aiden laughs awkwardly. His face heats quickly, and his mouth begins moving without the permission of his brain. “Careful there. You’re starting to sound like a guy I would definitely ask on a date.”
As soon as the words leave his mouth, Aiden wants to curl up into a ball and die, somehow worse than naming every one of Harvard’s ex-girlfriends in his shock that Harvard is not the 100% straight man that he always seemed to be. His cheeks are about to burst into flames, and he wouldn’t even stop, drop, and roll to put them out. He would let them burn. He deserves it for creating such a horrifically awkward moment.
“You,” Aiden says, brain a jumble of static. “You probably didn’t need to know that. I don’t know why I–”
“No, no. It’s cool,” Harvard says, though his voice is strained. “We’ve been best friends for almost as long as I can remember. Best friends– uh– tell each other stuff like that. Locker room talk and shit.” The words don’t even sound like Harvard. Maybe if he joined a fraternity and drank beer instead of water for the next four years.
“Right. Best friends are always telling each other about their kinks and pushing their beds together and kissing each other for practice.”
“Right.”
The silence that spans between the two of them is too much to handle, an awkwardness that hasn’t been present for them since the first time they kissed, when Aiden stared at Harvard wondering if he felt the same sense of rightness that Aiden had.
Harvard continues to sort the stack of papers into piles silently. Aiden wonders if he is going to ignore the tension and truly act like this is a normal conversation for them to have. Each second that passes makes Aiden want to throw the papers across the room, watch them slice through the air like scores of tiny knives through the tension.
“So,” Harvard eventually says as if hearing Aiden’s thoughts. “Did you want to order something for dinner? Pizza or Indian food or Chinese food.”
”Pizza’s good. That place around here that does New Haven style is still open, right?”
”Should be. I’ll check.”
The restaurant is open, so Harvard places an order for delivery. In the meanwhile, Harvard sorts through his papers while Aiden goes through his drawers. He’s a little surprised that Harvard was so game to have him rummage through even his most private drawers, but he understands why when he fails to find any compromising material. Of course the ever perfect Harvard Lee isn’t hiding any dirty magazines or adult toys in his underwear drawer. Why would Aiden ever think otherwise?
Truthfully, it’s relieving to know that Harvard hasn’t changed too much on him, hasn’t suddenly developed secrets that even Aiden isn’t privy to. It makes him feel a little shitty about the one that he is harboring. But it would be worse if he were to admit it.
“You remember where everything is,” Harvard says fondly. He’s holding the pizza box in his hands while Aiden pulls two plates from the cabinets, paper to replace the porcelain ones at their new house. They’re no strangers to eating over the box, but when in Rome...
“Your house always felt more like a home to me than mine.”
Harvard opens the box on the kitchen counter, the counter that Aiden has claimed as his impromptu seat. They both grab a slice of pizza and begin blowing on it to cool it down. “That was probably because my parents were always here. I know you wanted that consistency.”
Aiden can’t manage to look up from the pizza to respond honestly. “Your parents are great, but you’re the consistent one in my life. You’re so reliable. I don’t know what I would do without you.”
“You always say that’s what makes me a great captain,” he says with a shrug.
“That’s what makes you a great person . You look at yourself in relation to how you help others, but that’s not all there is to you.”
When Aiden manages to look at his friend, Harvard is staring hard at his slice, scrutinizing it in a way not even chain pizza deserves. Aiden dares to rest his non-greasy hand on Harvard’s shoulder, prompting him to make eye contact. In one hundred years of staying by Harvard’s side, Aiden will still never get over how beautiful those brown eyes are. People who compliment Aiden on how striking his green eyes are have never had the pleasure of being captivated by Harvard’s.
Aiden can’t look away, can’t move, can hardly breathe. A drop of grease falls onto his plate.
“Sometimes I think you see me in a way that nobody else does. When everyone else sees a leader, you see… You see Harvard.”
“I… I’ve known you for so long. You weren’t always the captain.”
“Right…”
“You were my friend first. And before that…”
Harvard leans closer, their plates touching. “Before that?”
“Before that, you were still just as amazing,” Aiden says with a smile and shoves the pizza slice in his mouth before he can incriminate himself.
After dinner, they continue clearing out Harvard’s room. Most of his clothing is at the Kings Row dormitory, so it’s not as daunting of a task as it would be otherwise. Harvard is a driven hard-worker who never fails, and Aiden would lasso the moon and pull it to the Earth if Harvard asked him to. Which is to say that by the time midnight hits and their yawning becomes unignorable, they’ve cleaned his entire desk and most of his closet.
“Is my bed big enough for the both of us?” Harvard asks as Aiden brushes his teeth. “It’s not nearly as big as yours.”
Aiden spits into the sink of the ensuite and chooses, conveniently, to forget about the trundle aspect of Harvard's bed. “My bed at home is too big to be functional for one person. Yours is basically the size of our beds pushed together at school. And it’s not like we haven’t slept in your bed before.”
“We were a bit smaller when we last shared my bed.”
Their last time sharing this bed is crystal clear in Aiden’s memory, a transparent and multi-colored shifting of shapes, words both spoken and murmured that are now engraved into Aiden’s being. He remembers matching Harvard’s gaze with courage that felt impossible to gather. He remembers biting his lip to bite his tongue, all to keep back the deluge of sentimental drivel that wanted to escape.
His hair is longer now than it was at that time, pulled up into a ponytail that wouldn’t have been possible back then. And Harvard is…so different, yet the same in all the ways that matter. Taller and broader, and smarter and braver. More confident and competent than he has ever been, but still the same Harvard that Aiden has been crushing on since he was a weird, loner kid with glasses and a bowl cut.
The contacts and immaculately cut layers are a much better look on him.
“Thank you again,” Harvard says as he climbs into bed beside Aiden. Aiden’s cheeks warm as he watches and pulls his legs closer to himself on the bed. “You really didn’t have to—”
“I wanted to,” Aiden assures him. “I’d do whatever you want me to. You just need to ask.”
“Because of what Coach said?”
“No. Not because of Coach. Because I…”
Because he what? Because they’re best friends? Because he loves him? Because he spent every day of Harvard’s relationships using publicly displayed affection to make himself sick imagining privately displayed affection? Because he held tight to Harvard Paw every night, pretending he could still feel the heat of a Harvard who hadn’t held him in years? He’s pathetic.
“Because that’s what I’m here for.”
“I don’t want to take advantage of you being my friend.”
It’s the most ridiculous thing Aiden has heard in his nearly eighteen years of living. As if Aiden isn’t honored whenever Harvard asks something of him, thrilled that he is the one Harvard still turns to after all these years. Not a girlfriend, not Marcel.
“Ask. Please ask.”
Harvard’s brows shoot up his forehead. “Ask you what?”
“Ask me to drop the guys I mess around with. You know that I’ll drop them for you if you ask me to, so just ask. Please.”
“I can’t ask you to do that. You enjoy hooking up with them. I wouldn’t make you stop doing something you enjoy. Even if it does hurt our team’s chances—”
Aiden's eyes roll back in his skull as quickly as his head rolls back on his neck. “Enough about the fucking team! I don’t care about the team; I don’t care about the guys I hook up with. I care about you , Harvard.”
The words sink into the air and permeate their epidermises until it can be carried by their blood to their brains, where Aiden finally processes what he just said. Harvard’s expression is indecipherable, and Aiden is too panicked to try. He just stares into those familiar brown eyes and prays his words don’t make him come across as the spoiled brat that he knows he is.
“Okay, I do also care about the team,” he relents, “but the team means nothing compared to you. Sometimes I want you to need me. I want you to ask.”
“I always need you, Aiden,” is Harvard’s reply, stripped raw and real. “I have wanted you to drop the guys you hook up with for me since you first started sleeping around. I want to show you that you do deserve to be with a guy you really like, that you would treat them well because you treat me— You treat me well. I wouldn’t ask for more. And if you wanted to be my boyfriend, I wouldn’t ask for more.”
“I— That’s not— I didn’t mean for you to say—”
“What do you want from me? I’ll give it to you; you just have to tell me what it is .”
The desperation in his tone and expression brings forth a similar desperation in Aiden. “I don’t know what I want... I just want you . I’ve always wanted you. From when I was a snotty little brat who followed you around like you were the Sun to now when I’ve realized that I’m just like my dad so I’ll never deserve you.”
“In what way are you like your dad? He’s… He’s one step away from a dead-beat who toys with people’s emotions just to dump them when he gets bored.”
Aiden sits in the echo of the description until realization dawns on Harvard. Aiden raises an eyebrow, affecting a more casual emotion than he is experiencing. “See? The apple doesn’t fall far from the tree.”
“N-No. That’s different. You’re there when it counts.”
He pulls himself to the edge of the bed, shying away from the touch of Harvard’s hand on his shoulder. “When it’s convenient for me to be.”
“Was it convenient for you to come all the way out here to help me pack? Or help Seiji pick an outfit to wear? Or listen to my woes after the whole Marcel thing?”
Of course he listened to Harvard complain about Marcel. He was praying on the stupid frenchman’s downfall. How dare he be the one to open Harvard’s eyes to his bisexuality when Aiden has been pining after him for years— when Aiden was his first kiss. When Aiden has been locking his heart in a chest under his bed for years just to protect Harvard and their friendship.
“Well, no…”
“I don’t know how you’re so blind to yourself.”
When Harvard reaches out to cup Aiden’s face, Aiden is too caught up by the words to notice the movement. The touch sets him alight, wide eyes taking in the way Harvard’s quintessential warmth seems to be amplified for some reason. It would be a lie to say that Harvard is taken aback by the kiss— he leans in just as Harvard does— but he is surprised.
They haven’t kissed since they were children, immature and giggling at their own gaiety, and Aiden doesn’t remember it being anything like this. Maybe because they’ve both improved their techniques since then, a thought that makes him slightly sick to think about. Maybe it’s because Aiden’s years of yearning have enhanced the experience. Most probably it’s a combination of the two. Aiden doesn’t let himself think about it for too long, allows himself to get lost in the feeling of Harvard’s lips against his own, to drown in the feelings he can no longer ignore.
“You’d actually want to be my boyfriend?” Aiden asks when they’ve parted, both of Harvard’s hands holding his face like a treasure. They’re still so close that Harvard is little more than a blur to his eyes. (Far more to his heart, always everything to his heart.) “Not just agree because you think it would help me, but because you want it.”
“Aiden, I–” He cracks a laugh, ducking his head slightly like he can hardly believe what he’s about to say. “When I told you I was going on a date with Marcel, for one moment, one glorious moment that I have been thinking about every night since then, I thought you were going to ask me to stay with you. I think Marcel could tell that something was up— I was a little out of it at first. But we’d just been talking about doing things for ourselves. I thought you would have said something if you wanted to.”
“I am always doing things for myself. That is literally all I do, but I won’t hold you back from being with someone that you really like.”
“Why has it never crossed your mind that I might like you?”
Aiden levels him with a flat look to which Harvard smiles his brilliant smile and presses their lips together briefly. “I’m going to fuck this up,” Aiden asserts with closed eyes, forehead against his best friend’s. “Over a decade of friendship and I’m going to ruin it because I can’t not fuck up a relationship.”
“Maybe I’ll be the one to ruin it.”
“No. I’m going to ruin you.”
“Then that’s my decision,” Harvard says and pulls Aiden into a hug. “Let’s just— Lie down. It’s too late for this. Never trust your brain after ten pm, isn’t that what they say?”
Too exhausted, emotionally and physically, to continue to argue, Aiden allows Harvard to lay them both down. The pillow is too high up to rest comfortably against his face, and it results in an awkward crick in Aiden’s neck. But for this view of Harvard’s face so close to his, Aiden would gladly suffer the most horrendous neck pain.
He keeps his eyes open until it’s no longer possible, until exhaustion has pressed on his eyelids so hard that it’s a losing game to fight against it.
When Aiden wakes up, Harvard has replaced himself with a fuzzy brown teddy bear. Aiden hadn’t taken the bear out of his bag last night, so Harvard must have grabbed it for him before his escape this morning. Rubbing the sleep out of his eyes, Aiden pushes himself out of bed and tucks the bear back under the covers.
By the time he makes his way to the kitchen, he has been able to hear Harvard humming long enough to identify the song. Aiden knows the song— he loves the song. It’s his current favourite song, although he hasn’t explicitly told Harvard that.
“You left me to wake up alone,” he says, making Harvard jerk around. They exchange a smile once their eyes meet before Harvard is returning to the eggs with the remnants of his smile still lingering on his face.
“I wanted to have breakfast ready for you by the time you woke up.”
“The bed was cold after you left.”
Harvard glances at him for a split second before staring determinedly at the eggs. “That’s never been a problem for you at school.”
Aiden blows some hair out of his face “Sleeping in when I have pressing deadlines is far more satisfying than sleeping in when I’m allowed to.”
“You had Harvard Paw,” Harvard argues, smiling gently but still not making eye contact.
“I would have preferred Harvard Lee.”
“I’m here. I’ll always be here.”
His heart stutters momentarily in his chest, a brief pause as the words realize. As he prepares to retort, the organ begins to beat furiously, seemingly making up for the lost time. “Even,” he begins, then swallows and tries again. “Even if we end up at different schools?”
Harvard turns off the stove with a click. His grin when he swivels his attention back to Aiden— who is now sitting on the counter— is playful. “You think I’d let a little distance get in the way of our friendship? We’ve been through worse. Remember when Jessica spilled her lunch on you and you had to spend the rest of the day holding up the waistband of your shorts because the my extra pair were too big for you?”
“Yes! God, I refused to talk to her for weeks after that. Remember when Adam told me that I shouldn’t hang out with you anymore?”
“Yeah… He was majorly controlling over you…and kind of racist. I’m glad you stopped seeing him.”
“He ruined all guys from Saint’s Academy for me,” Aiden agrees, finger pointed to his mouth as he pretends to gag. “But you know, I think he didn’t like you because he felt threatened.”
“I know.”
Aiden’s eyes go wide.
“He absolutely didn’t like me because he felt threatened. He thought I was going to steal you away from him.”
To distract from the beet red colour surely staining his face, Aiden slides off the counter, saying, “You had a girlfriend at the time. Kenzie, remember?”
Harvard laughs lightheartedly. “I remember, but I still can’t believe that you do.”
“I don’t think it’s that weird that I remember my best friend’s girlfriends. You always remember the names of the guys that I go on dates with.”
This is the first thing to throw Harvard off during this conversation. He scratches his neck idly with one hand while dishing out eggs with the other.
When Aiden was a little boy, sitting side-by-side with Harvard during elementary school, he always said that he would want flight as a superpower. As he’s grown up, he has come to change his answer. Telepathy is the only response he has now. He’d give anything to be able to read minds, to know without a shadow of a doubt what Harvard is thinking when he goes quiet like this.
Sure, it might be an invasion of his privacy, but it would be worth it to understand what Harvard really thinks about him. One weary kiss before bed was not equivalent to reading Harvard’s inner thoughts, knowing what he thinks and how he feels.
He’s handed a plateful of food before he can continue to mourn his lack of powers.
“Come on. It’s going to get cold.”
Harvard takes their plates when they’ve finished eating because he’s such a damn gentleman. It’s one of the things that Aiden almost hated about him in relationships. He was always opening the door for his girlfriends and offering them his coat when they got cold and holding their hands and looking into their eyes when they talked to him. Aiden still hates it, sometimes, when he thinks back to it. But it’s nice when it’s directed towards him.
While Harvard tosses their plates in the trash, Aiden refills his water bottle. By the time he looks back, Harvard is over by the threshold, seemingly caught in the gravity of his own height markers. He looks so young like this, like he’s physically transforming into the ages that he is remembering.
Aiden only makes his way over when he catches a glimpse of a sheen on Harvard’s cheek, a hint of malaise— or perhaps nostalgia. He takes a deep breath and closes the distance, a hand on Harvard’s back as an offering. An offering that Harvard takes immediately, pulling Aiden into a hug and hiding his face in his neck.
Aiden has seen Harvard cry before. After being friends for over a decade, it would be impossible for him to have not. Harvard cried when he scraped his knee on the basketball court playing four-square in elementary school. He cried in first grade when the girl he had a crush on held hands with someone else. He cried in high school when he failed his physics test (that everyone in the class also failed). But despite all of those years, all of those opportunities, he has never been the one to comfort Harvard.
It feels right, Aiden thinks as he smooths his hand against the trained muscles of Harvard’s back. It feels right that, after so long waiting in the sidelines, he should be the one to to dry his tears. It’s a right he has earned through maintaining his friendship and containing his deeper feelings.
“You’re going to miss this house, aren’t you?”
“Yeah, I am… You don’t realize how much you’ll miss something until you’re saying goodbye.”
“You’re a sentimental sap,” Aiden says. Harvard laughs wetly and nuzzles into Aiden’s neck. “You’ll always have the memories, Harvard. Any place with the people you love is home.”
“Now who’s sentimental?”
Aiden laughs, but the sound peters out when Harvard lifts his head, locking tear-filled eyes with Aiden.
“Thanks, Aiden. It feels…so stupid to be upset over a house, but…”
“But you grew up here,” Aiden finishes for him. “And we’re graduating soon. So many things are changing at once.”
“But I’ll always have you, right?”
Warmth blossoms up his neck like ivy growing towards the sun. He fights his urge to look away, instead brushing his thumb over Harvard’s soft cheek. “Of course,” he promises, forcing an admittedly wobbly smile. “I’m your best friend.”
Harvard doesn’t respond for a moment, and Aiden spends that moment wishing for a Matilda-like acquisition of super-powers, specifically telepathy. But when Harvard comes to a decision, Aiden sees it click in his brain like an electrical socket switching on.
It’s perfect seeing as Aiden is already holding Harvard’s cheek and only needs to tilt his own head as Harvard leans in. And it’s perfect because it feels just as perfect as last time— even more so since he was able to watch Harvard make the decision to kiss him. Harvard kisses like Aiden always imagined he would, sliding his fingers through Aiden’s hair and holding him as close as possible. Confident yet responsive. Like a man who knows what he wants and what he needs.
Harvard kisses like a promise that they’re both too scared to speak aloud and Aiden does his best to echo the sentiment. Although it must be evident from the buzzing resounding throughout his body as he is so close to everything he has ever wanted and everything he has ever needed.
When they pull away, it’s not far. Just enough for Aiden to see the hopeful smile on Harvard’s face. He presses another, quicker, kiss to Harvard’s lips to reassure his hopes.
They can’t linger for too long— Harvard’s room is only half packed— but Aiden knows now that once they have finished with this home, another awaits them.