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It’s the first day back from summer vacation. The corridors are completely impossible to get through, filled with people reuniting with friends at unnecessary volumes, with no concern that they’re blocking the fucking door.
Kevin Day is one of them—not talking to anyone, that would be beneath him, but he’s still obvious as shit, with his summer tan and fancy clothes and stupid hair and—
Well, the fact that he got about four inches taller really sticks out at Aaron right now, yeah.
Like, he was already tall. That was an accepted truth. The best place to fuck at school was behind the Natural History section on the third floor of the library, never trust the Monday Meatloaf at the cafeteria, and Kevin Day is tall.
(Granted, Kevin’s height is maybe not a listable moment for all students, but like – nobody would be arguing.)
So Kevin’s always been tall, but now he’s tall. Like, Aaron-has-to-crane-his-neck-to-look-at-him-tall.
Not that Aaron is looking at him. Obviously.
“Why is your face doing that?” Neil asks, frowning at Aaron.
“It’s not,” Aaron says. Neil gives him an unimpressed look and turns to Andrew.
“He’s coping poorly with your idol’s growth spurt,” Andrew says, bored. He is not looking at either of them. It looks like he’s constructing a sculpture made out of mashed potato, but Aaron knows his twin. He’s doing that, for sure, but mostly he’s scoping out the cafeteria, looking for something.
Someone, more specifically.
Neil looks at Aaron. “Are you jealous?”
Aaron contemplates squeezing the contents of the ketchup bottle out over his head. “No,” he says finally, and stabs at a carrot.
“That wasn’t very convincing,” Neil says, but looks convinced. He’s such a weird person. Aaron is displeased to be friends with him.
Andrew makes a noise then. Or, rather, he makes what would be a noise if it had emerged from anyone else’s body, and is mostly just a displacement of air around his face coming from him.
Aaron looks up. Kevin and Jean have entered the cafeteria, predictably bypassing all the food options to head to the drinks fridge and grab sports drinks. It’s possible that Kevin’s bloodstream is 63% isotonic water, Aaron thinks. It’s not physically possible for most humans in general, but Kevin is very annoying. Aaron suspects he could defy the limits of human biology in his quest to be a menace to Aaron’s homework.
He looks at Andrew. “You’re subtle,” he says.
Andrew flicks three salt sachets and a pepper sachet into Aaron’s glass of water in a single movement. Aaron would be impressed if he weren’t so annoyed.
He’s fishing out the soggy sachets, muttering curses about doppelgängers that Andrew ignores, when Neil says, “Ugh, you smell like sunscreen.”
Kevin, sitting next to Neil and opposite Aaron, bristles. “It’s important to use sun protection, Neil,” he says, eyeing Neil judgementally. “You’ll look like beef jerky by the time you’re twenty.”
“Maybe someone will chew on him,” Andrew suggests. He’s watching Jean as he sits on the other side of Neil. “I’ve heard he’s rather dog-like.”
“You are referring to the time I called him a mutt,” Jean says.
“He’s been called worse,” Andrew says.
Neil doesn’t bother to pay any attention to that exchange. An understandable decision to come to. Aaron is reasonably sure it’s flirting, at least on Andrew’s end. He’s yet to figure out where Jean stands on the matter.
“You smell like a forty year old man,” Neil complains.
“Why do you know what that smells like?” Aaron asks. It’s mostly rhetorical, but Neil makes a shifty expression, so Aaron narrows his eyes at him incredulously.
Before he can decide what to do with that information, Kevin turns to him and says, “Do you think I smell like an old man?”
Aaron wants to drown him.
“I don’t care what you smell like,” Aaron says.
“That’s not the question,” Kevin says. He has the nerve to smile at Aaron—not, like, a nice smile, meaning a comforting or friendly one, but the kind of annoying thing he gets on his face when he’s doing what he thinks is charming ribbing and Aaron and Andrew agree are grounds for criminal action, though possibly for different reasons.
“You should ask a different one, then,” Andrew says, because he’s one of the three worst people Aaron knows. “Maybe you’ll like that answer better.”
Kevin looks over at Andrew and frowns, like he’s really thinking about that.
Aaron hates this school.
“So,” Kevin says, walking with Aaron down the corridor. “Have you started your readings yet?”
“It is the first day of school,” Aaron says flatly, and tries not to think about how fucking long Kevin’s shadow is, stretching out towards the doors to the outside world. Something belonging to Kevin Day seeking the sun? Like seeking like.
Aaron wonders if you can get sun stroke from a human lighthouse. That’s what Kevin is, kinda: too bright to look at, and fucking gargantuan to boot. Pick a struggle.
“Mmhmm,” Kevin says, then brushes the backs of their hands together, like he’s sly or something.
Aaron fights down a blush, schooling his expression and aura into something scolding. Kevin Day is not subtle, and has never been subtle, and apparently the growth spurt did not bring with it an elevated sense of self-awareness or tact.
He gently knocks his knuckles back against Kevin’s, which is meant to be a chiding move but comes out entirely too soft, so now he just looks like he’s indulging—even encouraging—Kevin, batting at him like some sort of cat. Awful.
“Why are you so—” Aaron begins, then cuts himself off. He huffs.
Kevin has the audacity to look amused by this. “I missed you this summer,” he says casually, which is terrible. It’s so fucking Kevin—he won’t say a nice word upon pain of death on the court, and he barely knows how to say thank you when Aaron chucks an energy bar at him to make sure he doesn’t fucking pass out at practice or fixes his bandages for him (in Aaron’s defence, he only took over because Kevin’s attempts were incompetent and therefore annoying, not because he wanted to) or whatever the fuck help he’s providing the walking irritant, but sometimes he’s just so honest that it makes Aaron want to shove his head into the school pool and scream underwater.
“Uh-huh,” Aaron says, because he’s not that easy. “Yeah, I’m sure you had a lot of time to just think about your schoolmates when you were lying on the decks of yachts and elongating your spine.”
Kevin pauses, processing that. “So you noticed?” he says, rubbing the nape of his neck.
Aaron stops, turning to look at him incredulously. “You look like the Lighthouse of Alexandria,” he says. Kevin’s face starts to break out into a slow smile, so Aaron turns on his heel and starts speed-walking forward.
“Aaron,” Kevin calls, and catches up extremely easily. Damn those legs. “Was that a history reference just for me?” he asks, looking entirely too chuffed with the concept. Aaron hates him.
“Sometimes people use words unrelated to you, Kevin,” Aaron says, keeping his tone dry.
“Sure,” Kevin says, looking completely unconvinced. Ugh. He looks so pleased. Aaron wants to push him onto a school bus and see him make terrible rich boy faces at the gum under the threadbare seats to remind himself why finding Kevin Day even remotely charming is a terrible idea and probably a sign of permanent brain injury. “Anyway, I didn’t say schoolmates.”
Aaron looks at him.
“I said you,” Kevin says, and Aaron cannot look at him anymore.
He thinks about pulling the fire alarm. It probably wouldn’t fix anything. Knowing his luck, Kevin has memorised the fire evacuation plans and would drag Aaron along with him on some sort of pre-fixed route that Kevin would rattle off annoying facts about while Aaron tried not to have any sort of opinion on Kevin’s hand tugging his.
But still. He thinks about it wistfully for a moment.
Unfortunately, someone beats him to the punch.
Life is actually even worse than Aaron had previously realised, because for reasons unbeknownst to him, their school has emergency sprinklers.
So now Aaron is wet, his schoolbag is wet, and—least acceptable of all—Kevin is wet.
In his stupid white shirt and his stupid summer yacht tan and with his stupid hair.
The alarm is blaring all around them. It’s the first day, so Aaron assumes it’s a student prank and not some sort of faulty wiring or, God forbid, an actual fire, so he’s busy viciously judging them for their timing—the first day of school is a fucking write off, save it for midterms—to ignore how horrendous he feels looking at Kevin.
Kevin looks at him, and swallows.
God, Aaron can’t deal with that right now.
“We should probably be moving,” he says.
The corridor is mostly empty. There are a few people heading out, trying to figure out the nearest fire exit, mostly cursing at the sprinklers, but some are giving Kevin and Aaron weird looks. Which is fair. They’re standing in the middle of the corridor under sprinklers just staring at each other like some dickheads in a coffee shop in a Hallmark movie.
“Right,” Kevin says, nodding. “Yeah.” He looks around, then points towards one of the other corridors. “Closest fire exit is that way.”
“Oh, God, of course you have the evac plan memorised,” Aaron mutters, even as he follows the direction Kevin pointed.
“Safety preparation is very important,” Kevin grumbles back, but the tips of his ears are pink when Aaron looks up at him.
Aaron chooses to focus on how much of a relief it is that he can still fucking see the tips of his ears, even with his stupid new mountain height. It’s easier to think about that than the blushing. Most things are.
“This is a closet,” Aaron says, staring at where Kevin’s led them.
Kevin makes a strangled sort of noise. Aaron looks at him, eyebrow raised.
“Not intentional,” Kevin says, and grabs Aaron by the forearm, tugging him. His hand slides down, forearm to wrist to hand, and he slips their hands together as he pulls Aaron along with him.
Aaron stares down at their joined hands, and tries to decide if his prevailing emotion should be shock at Kevin’s unanticipated level of game, or a legally-justified desire to kill him.
They do make it outside.
What they don’t do is make it to the actual fire evacuation point.
“Um,” Aaron says. “These are the bleachers of the football stadium.”
“You’re so observant,” Kevin says. “I see how you got your scholarship.”
It’s kind of a relief—Kevin is easier to handle when he’s being a bit of an asshole, because it means Aaron doesn’t have to feel any guilt about wanting to set him on fire for his more sincere tendencies—but Aaron punches him in the arm anyway.
“Ow,” Kevin says. He doesn’t even rub his arm. Dick.
“Kevin,” Aaron says. “Why are we here?”
Kevin looks at him.
“My brother would probably set the building on fire if he couldn’t find me at an evacuation checkpoint,” Aaron reminds him.
“Your brother probably set the building on fire in the first place,” Kevin counters, so Aaron steps on his foot. Kevin hisses, and sits down on the bleachers.
Aaron refuses to feel bad about this, and this decision is reinforced when Kevin reaches out to Aaron’s wrist and tugs him closer, pulling Aaron forward so he’s standing between Kevin’s legs.
It’s really fucking annoying that now that Kevin’s had this growth spurt, even sitting on the bleachers, he’s pretty close to Aaron’s face.
There is another word other than ‘annoying’ that Aaron could probably apply to the situation, but he refuses to think about it.
His phone vibrates from his jeans pocket. Rather than letting go of Aaron’s wrist so that Aaron can grab it more easily, Kevin plucks it out. His hand is warm against Aaron’s wet clothes, emanating all the way to his skin. Aaron feels very hostile right now.
As if what he did was even remotely socially acceptable, Kevin glances down at the phone. “Andrew,” he says. “He wants to know where you are.”
He looks up at Aaron. His hair is so dark, wet and slick against his forehead. It makes his eyelashes so stark, his eyes so green. It’s hard to look at him.
Aaron holds out his other hand, and Kevin puts his phone in it.
ok. not inside. with kevin. we got fucking soaked, he types.
Andrew’s response dings back, three in quick succession:
> ok
> don’t catch a cold
> or anything else
Aaron scowls. fuck off, he types, and then, because he’s still feeling some kind of way about Kevin’s grip around his wrist, kevin thinks you set it off
Andrew’s reply vibrates in his hand.
> tell him i stabbed the fire alarm
> you should have seen where neil came from
Aaron doesn’t find out where Neil came from, because Kevin loses patience and reclaims the phone, never mind that it’s not his.
“Hey,” Aaron protests, but Kevin ignores him, placing it down on the seat beside him. Before Aaron can make a move to grab it, Kevin looks back at him. Something about his gaze keeps Aaron pinned in place.
“Did he set it off?” he asks. His eyes don’t stray from Aaron’s. His fingers slowly stretch out, the thumb and index finger still making a ring around Aaron’s wrist, but the other three creeping up Aaron’s arm, spreading over his skin, warming him.
“He stabbed it,” Aaron says, half a beat too late. He keeps his eyes on Kevin’s face. He’s rocking back and forth on his feet, he realises, ebb and flow. A little closer to Kevin, a little further, back and forth, these small, circular movements, over and over, his feet staying planted.
“Destructive,” Kevin says. His other hand finds Aaron’s waist, trails down his side slowly, settles on his hip.
Aaron’s chest hurts. He says, “Don’t worry, I’ll protect your ankles. He won’t make you normal-sized again.”
“You know, I’m starting to think you’re a bit fixated on my growth spurt,” Kevin murmurs. He’s shifting closer in his seat, straightening up his back a little. Aaron can probably count his eyelashes.
“I’m just thinking about whether I’ll have to do some housing reno on my doorframe for you to fit in my room without hitting your head on the way in,” Aaron says.
Kevin raises an eyebrow. “So you are planning on having me back in your bedroom,” he drawls. Aaron resists the urge to bite him.
“You weren’t the worst study partner I’ve ever had,” Aaron says, studying Kevin. He swallows. Kevin’s eyes are so green.
With a hum, Kevin releases his wrist. Before Aaron can question it, Kevin says, “Not the worst, huh?”
“Not the worst,” Aaron confirms. Kevin’s hand is so warm on his hip, he can barely tell their clothes are damp.
“The thing is,” Kevin says, in that low voice that usually only comes out at night, when he’s sleepy and they’re studying in the public library or sometimes when he walks Aaron home. It’s making Aaron’s skin itch, especially now, coming out of that chest, that throat, everything about Kevin just a little different now, a little more—
“The thing is,” Kevin says again, “I usually aim to be the best.”
“Well,” Aaron starts saying, and he doesn’t know how he’s going to end that sentence—rudely, probably—but he never finds out, because Kevin finally moves his recently-freed hand and cups the side of Aaron’s face, big enough to run down to his jaw and tilt it to his liking. His other hand is still firm on Aaron’s hip, just like an anchor, but Aaron can’t think about that, because Kevin leans in and kisses him.
Their clothes are still damp, Aaron’s hair is wet and sticking to his forehead, and Kevin is not the same boy that grinned at him triumphantly across the court when he shot the winning goal at the end of last year, because now he’s four inches taller and significantly tanner and he’s kissing him.
He’s kissing Aaron out here on the bleachers, and he missed Aaron over the summer, and maybe today isn’t so bad.
“You know,” Kevin says, voice muffled in the skin of Aaron’s neck, “nobody actually knows what the Lighthouse of Alexandria looked like. I mean, we have a good idea, there are consistent descriptions, but – nobody knows exactly.”
Without missing a beat, Aaron says, “Guess I should confess. Remember all those times you complained about me having cold hands?” He places one of those hands on Kevin’s chest, drums his fingers against the hard muscle a little. “Vampire. Saw it in person.”
Kevin snorts, pulling back to look at Aaron. His eyebrows are doing something salacious and unforgivable and stupid and absolutely not charming at all. “Ooh,” he says, in a terrible impersonation of a horror movie heroine and a passing imitation of a romance one. “Are you going to bite me now?”
“Shut up,” Aaron says, pushing Kevin’s face away with his hands. “God, you’re the worst. Can’t take you anywhere.” Kevin is laughing against his palms, and Aaron’s cheeks are pink, and he can’t stop smiling.
Yeah. Today’s not so bad.