Archive of Our Own ^beta

i.

There had been a time, where Harvard had been unable to properly appreciate summers for the blessing that they were.

Obviously, the year his father had gotten sick, he had a reasoning for it. Hospital rooms got stuffy, the sickly sweet smell of medicine and chemicals mixing and melting with summer swelter, and it had been imprinted forever in his head. He hated it. He’d harbored a lot of hatred for many things that summer, not limited to his senses, but also doctors with somber faces, white tiled floors, and the feeling of being guideless.

He’d grown up, left many of those fears at the door, from when he’d broken his arm to a particularly bad fever, but that last one remained. Maybe that’s why he struggled with finding his footing after school was over. Summer felt boundless, the normal guidelines in his life suddenly removed, elusive.

There was one constant, however. Because of course, Aiden was there. Next to him, under the blazing sun, or half a world away, talking about medieval torture methods over the phone.

“I don’t think killing him is the answer,” Harvard tried to be reasonable. After all, he was the first to, well, deeply dislike Aiden’s father. Aiden had some reservations, though they tended to melt away once he had to spend more than a few days in close quarters with the man. “And I’m not sure about the laws on murder in international waters.”

“That’s why I’m saying torture, god, Harv, have you even been listening?” Aiden’s voice crackled through the phone, and Harvard cast a glance back at where his parents were setting up the table for lunch, happily chatting away.

“I always listen to you.” Though he was wondering if maybe he always should. “But I don’t think torture is the way to go. What about talking out your feelings?”

“Haven’t you heard? My father has no feelings.” Aiden gasped, but in the sardonic way, not the giddy way Harvard preferred. “Maybe it’s genetic. Wouldn’t that be useful?”

“No, and stop being dramatic.” Harvard smiled to himself, envisioning Aiden’s pout on the other end of the line. He picked at the grass around his feet, shifted on the concrete steps he was sitting on. “I love your feelings. And tell me what’s going on, other than the homicidal instinct?” 

“He keeps leaving for, like, a week at a time,” Aiden paused, and Harvard knew he was chewing on his bottom lip, choosing his next words carefully. “I guess I should be grateful. He took the time off work and all. But there’s only so much smalltalk I can handle with the ship’s captain.”

Harvard hummed, closed his eyes, and felt the sun on his skin. It only marginally worked at chasing away his indignation. 

“An interesting interpretation of the term ‘family vacation’.”

There’s a long silence on the other end, and Harvard suddenly fears he’s overstepped, made light of something Aiden was clearly sensitive about. That fear is overshadowed by adoration as Aiden’s small voice comes through, hesitant but so earnest it hurts.

“I wish you were here. That would be fun.”

He holds down a sigh, breaks a blade of grass between his fingers. It being late July, it’s yellow and brittle from too much sun and too little rain. 

“I know. Me too.”

More silence, but Harvard doesn’t mind. He didn’t mind silence with Aiden; it never felt awkward, or lulling, or too much. Birds chirp away somewhere above him, sound shrill and bright. 

Eventually, Aiden speaks again. He must’ve moved, because he can hear seagulls shriek over the phone. “We’re still gonna meet on the coast, right? Catania?”

“‘Course,” He looks over, and his father is waving him over, some dish set out on the table. He gives him a thumbs up, then turns back to the field that stretches on and on. He thinks, for a moment, that he and Aiden could run through it until the sun sets, until there’s bugs biting at their skin and dirt on their feet. He’d have to wait. “We’re driving down sometime next week, I think.”

Aiden hums on the other end, and it mixes with the rocking of the boat, a methodical sound. “I’ll see you then.”

“Call me,” He gets up and dusts off his trousers, bits of grass falling off. “Call me, and don’t murder anyone.”

“I’ll do my best?”

He can hear Aiden’s smile behind the words, and he can’t help but smile back, to the field, and to the sound of Aiden’s voice.

“Do your best,” His mother calls him again, and he knows he has to go, but he wants to stay for a moment more. “I’ll let you do your worst once I’m there.”

Aiden laughs on the other end, and the sound mixes with waves crashing along metal, and it sounds like summer. 

ii.

The Kane mansion was often eerie. Harvard found this to be a fact, rather than an impression, the more he visited.

It was modern, sleek and white and full of surfaces where he could catch sight of a muddy reflection of himself. Aiden’s room appeared to be a bad echo of that, where an attempt at homeliness had been made, but it lacked what Harvard knew to be distinctly Aiden. He was still on the fence on whether it had been Aiden’s choice in the first place, or merely a result of that eerie emptiness filling every corner of that house.

Which led to the two of them sitting out by the pool, long after the sun had set. They were still in their suits, half-undone, ties long lost somewhere on the patio. Aiden’s father had gotten married somewhere around two in the afternoon, and they’d spent the evening first dancing away, and then in some corner of the venue, talking and talking.

They’d gotten back home already past midnight, and Aiden’s father had left for his honeymoon shortly afterwards, a strawberry-blonde new wife on his arm. As such, the house had been handed to them for a week. A week.

The excitement of that deal had long worn off, so they sat in silence, Aiden’s head on his shoulder, and he watched the light of the pool glint as the water rippled around his calves. Aiden kept drawing circles with his right leg, the other pulled up against him, leaving a wet puddle on the concrete. Their trousers were rolled up, suit jackets rumpled, and Aiden’s hair had long since lost its graceful wave, now sticking up in weird angles. Harvard liked it long, and he liked it like this, a little messy, a far cry from what Aiden had worked for all morning.

He ran his fingers through it gently, and Aiden sighed, relaxing into the touch, slouching against him. The warmth of his body radiated off of him, undoing the chill of the water, and making Harvard’s heart skip a beat every so often, whenever he shifted and readjusted their position.

The light of the pool reflected off Aiden’s skin, glowing a light, shifting purple. Harvard feels Aiden’s jaw work against his shoulder, even beneath two layers of clothing. It feels far too close, and a little dangerous, by the way his stomach kept turning on itself in nervousness. Lots of things had begun to change, and he understood very few of them.

This, he understands: Aiden’s voice comes out low and sad.

“I’m scared ‘bout Kings Row.” A beat, a moment of doubt. “What if it’s wrong?”

“Wrong?” Harvard looked for Aiden’s reflection in the water, and found it broken up by small waves. “Why would it be wrong?”

“‘Cause I always am.” One of Aiden’s hands comes up, and he moves a strand of hair to sit behind his ear, and Harvard can suddenly see green eyes, red-rimmed. Tired, surely, by the way he slurred his words, but something else too. “I’m always wrong about something, and then I get hurt.”

He hates the way Aiden’s voice wavers on that last word, the way he chokes on it. He shifts, nudges him with his shoulder, trying for a smile.

“We chose Kings Row together, and I’m never wrong,” Aiden snorts, hand falling to the concrete. He pauses, and picks up Aiden’s hand, holding it in his own lap, fingers interlocking. “And you’re not wrong about me.”

Aiden’s leg stops making those circles, enough for the water to even out. As the waves disappear, Aiden’s face comes into clearer focus. He’s wrinkling his nose, distaste evident in the corners of his mouth.

“I hate that he leaves. I hate that I’m running to a school half a state away, and he can’t be arsed to care.”

To that, words evade him. Harvard had never been afraid of his father leaving— he’d been afraid of losing him, but that feeling hadn’t been done onto him, as much as it had been discovered inside him. Even with how close they are, there are things he and Aiden will never fully understand about each other. It's why they worked so well, maybe— that offering of a different perspective, different understanding of the world, of what matters, of what is possible. Hence, he doesn’t know what it feels like for someone to leave, over, and over, and over again.

But he thinks— and he thinks of a tiny Aiden Kane, sneaking out of his house at seven years old, running through the halls of a hospital, to gather Harvard in his arms, to hold his hand, to whisper-scream I have to stay, I have to stay with Harvard!

It’s easy then; the words come naturally.

“I won’t leave,” It comes out as a whisper without him meaning it to. He tries again, a little firmer. He knows it so strongly that he needs Aiden to believe it, too. “Yeah? I won’t leave.”

Aiden smiles, then, though his eyes are still red and a dim, murky green. “You’re so good, Harvard Lee. You’re all that is good.”

“That’s not possible,” He knocks their knees together this time, and there’s three points of contact between them: hand, shoulder, knee. Aiden’s hair tickles his jaw, still. “You exist.”

Aiden full-on scoffs, and Harvard’s heart squeezes, tight and uncomfortable. “I’m not good.”

“Yes, you are.” He nudges his knee again, and Aiden pushes back, bones pressing against each other. It hurts, for just a moment. “You have to be. We’ll be good together.”

Aiden knocks his foot into Harvard’s own, then takes back to drawing circles in the water, waves lapping at Harvard’s skin. “You’ll have to teach me.”

He looks up to the stars, smiles, thinks of a kid far too smart for his own good, and turns back at the pool. The ripples get lost about halfway through, to that endless measured tranquility, something that should be relaxing but just puts him on edge. There’s a forest, beyond the patio and pool they’re sitting on, and it’s so dark he can’t make out past the first few trees. Boundless, endless, directionless.

He shifts against Aiden, makes him fall an inch further against him, holds him closer and closer. Aiden says nothing, only tightens his hold on Harvard’s hand, squeezes their fingers together.

Harvard turns, smiles into his hair. “You’ll be fine. Kings Row will be home.”

Aiden pauses, then pushes off of him. He stays close, green eyes searching for something. At least, he thinks, they look brighter now. Still, they’re so close that he feels himself flush, not from the heat, or from their proximity, but due to Aiden.

The lights of the pool reflect off his face, lining his nose and cheeks and brow in light blues and purples. His eyelashes, long and graceful, curled and caught the light, framing green eyes. The bow of his lips— half in shadow, half lit by that same glowing blue, all of it shimmering and moving and casting him in a literal new light. 

He looked so— beautiful.  

And Harvard very clearly wanted to kiss him. Which was new. Or, was it? Shit.

Aiden shifts a breath closer, and— oh, shit.

Aiden searches, searches, and Harvard hopes he can’t see it on his face, how he’s considering the exact space between their lips, the centimeters it would take to ruin everything.

Suddenly, he whispers, and it’s so soft, that even with how close they are, Harvard has to strain his ears to listen.

“You’re my home.” He leans back slightly, just enough that Harvard gets to blink at him, enough that when a bang falls over his eye, Harvard’s hand itches to fix it. “Wherever you go, that’s home.” 

Stunned, Harvard fails to see Aiden’s hands shoot to his back, and fails to flail in a dignified way as he’s pushed into the pool. Traitor, he wants to say, traitor! Instead he kicks, touches the bottom of the pool, and lets himself float, for just a moment. 

The water is cold, but not unbearable, and when he resurfaces, clothes soaked, all he sees is Aiden laughing away, high up on his concrete throne.

He grabs Aiden’s waist, who shrieks, and drags him under, too.

“Dick!” Harvard laughs at Aiden’s indignation, as he pushes wet bangs away from his face, scowling. “You’re an ass.”

He kicks forward, brushes Aiden’s hair away for him, and Aiden leans into the touch, eyes sparkling, reflecting the water. “You’re like a wet cat.”

Aiden sticks his tongue out, then splashes him, but he’s too cute for Harvard to really care. He splashes back, and they struggle for a bit, dunking each other, laughing, coughing up pool water, touching and pulling and pushing. The water ripples, splashes over the edge of the concrete, soaking the artificial stone.

Once they drag themselves out, Harvard lays down on the concrete, puddle forming, and watches the stars as Aiden takes off his jacket, then his shirt, wringing them out. Harvard can’t stop himself from gazing at him, how his back is lined in blues and purples and greens, how his hair hangs around his face. 

He swallows, and pushes himself up on his elbows. “Movie?”

Aiden looks up briefly, water from his clothes falling to the ground with a soft sound, and raises both eyebrows. “Ghostbusters?”

“Friday The Thirteenth.”

Aiden groans, rolling his eyes. Droplets of water run down his neck, and Harvard drags his eyes back to the stars. His stomach performs a weird somersault that he can’t really explain. “I hate that one. It’s stupid.”

“Fine. Jaws.”

“Grease.”

Harvard closes his eyes for a moment, feeling the summer breeze pick up, nipping at his skin, where his clothes stick to it, too light to stop the chill that follows. He hears Aiden pad over, steps always eerily quiet, and feels him lean down, looking him over.

He opens his eyes, and Aiden is already there, a small smile on his face. He points a finger at him. “Both. With popcorn.”

“Sure,” Aiden’s smile widens, then sharpens. “I’ll race you back.”

“That’s unfair,” He tries to protest, but Aiden’s already up and gone, laughter mixing with the sounds of trees swaying in the wind. Harvard is left to scramble to his feet, running after him.

iii.

The first week of summer break between their junior and sophomore years, Aiden is sleeping over at his house. Sleeping is a big word for it, as they’re currently spread out over the mattress they’ve dragged down to Harvard’s basement, twisted around each other, staring at the ceiling. The lights are off, and the TV is playing a rerun of an old, cheesy ‘90s flick, something they’d seen a dozen times but didn’t mind having as background sound. The small window on the far edge of the room is propped open, but the air outside is still warm, and doesn’t help their current predicament.

Aiden sighs next to him. They’ve been silent for a while now.

It’s hot, horrendously, incredibly hot, and somewhere close to two in the morning. The fan sitting next to the TV is doing it’s best, but Harvard can still feel his sleep shirt sticking to his skin. Aiden shifts next to him, curling into his side, long legs stretched out, bare due to the sleeping shorts he’d taken to wearing. There were bruises along one of his knees from a nasty fall taken during a bout, and even two weeks later, it still painted his skin an unpleasant yellow color. 

Harvard had stared at it for— well, he’d stared at it, and he wasn’t sure why, but he did. He remembers helping to ice it, and he worries that it hurts when Aiden shifts and winces, but it makes his head spin, too.

He attributes it to the heat, and tries not to think about it too hard.

Point was— they had both long accepted it would be hard to sleep, so they’d kicked their sheets to the edge of their makeshift beds, and Harvard was still staring, blinking at the ceiling. He couldn’t get the shorts out of his head.

He feels the mattress dip next to him, and Aiden butts his head against his chest. He makes a noise halfway through a groan and some kind of protest, because it’s far too hot for cuddling, but ends up gathering Aiden in his arms, anyways.

The light of Aiden’s phone lights up his peripheral vision then, and he lifts his head just enough to see Aiden tapping away, phone close to his chest.

“Who are you texting?” He takes a glance at the digital clock by the door. 2:23 AM. “Who’s even up at this time?”

“It’s summer, Harv, people hangout.” Aiden doesn’t look up, nearly mumbling, and doesn’t offer any more explanation. Harvard considers dropping the topic altogether, but curiosity takes the better of him. 

“You didn’t answer my question.”

“It’s some guy,” Harvard tightens the arm he has around Aiden, and rolls them over. Aiden falls with his hair perfectly splayed out behind him, phone still held over his chest. He raises an eyebrow, and Harvard raises one back. Aiden huffs, and a strand of hair falls away from his face at it. “He’s been flirting with me for a bit.”

“Is it someone you like?” He feels his face flush even as he asks it. It’s a stupid, schoolyard phrasing. Aiden, who had discovered a whole new world of boys and kisses and secrets over the school year, must think him inexperienced.

He’s not, and Aiden knows that. He’s kissed girls. He’s— well, he hasn’t kissed a boy yet, but obviously he’d like to: that happened to be the problem. Still, the question remains, why else, at two in the morning?  

“I don’t have to like them,” Aiden grins, bites his lip. It’s not shy, but giddy, excited, as if he’s discovered a new way to toy with things. Oh, god, he probably has. “They just have to like me.”

“That’s not how it works.” Aiden rolls his eyes, before tossing his phone some other way, and looks up at him expectantly. Harvard is suddenly aware, somewhere in his heat-addled and sleep-deprived brain, that he’s basically plastered to Aiden. He makes quick work of rolling off, landing on a bare mattress. 

They lay next to each other, staring at the ceiling. In the background, Patrick sings away his love for Kat across a football field. Harvard closes his eyes, breaths slowly, in, and out. He feels Aiden’s hand sneaking into his, fingers intertwining.

“You’ll always be the only one I really like,” Harvard’s heart twists, jumps of joy at the words, but he knows Aiden doesn’t mean them that way. “Boring, stupid boys have nothing on you.”

Aiden shifts, rests his head against Harvard’s shoulder, brings their joined hands up to rest against his own chest. It’s too hot, and they’re tangled up as always, but he can’t bring himself to move. He hums in lieu of conversation, and Aiden burrows further between his shoulder and the mattress.

“I can get us into this party tomorrow,” His voice comes out half muffled. “If you want. Might be fun.”

“I gotta ask Ma.” His mother wouldn’t mind, probably, but she had a weird tendency to treat him and Aiden as a unit, and be extra careful when they were together. Harvard assumed it was a weird after-effect of growing up together, where many of Harvard’s own life events intertwined with Aiden’s own.

Aiden squeezes his hand, but doesn’t look up. “We could sneak out, if needed. I know how to.”

“I know you do.”

Aiden acquiesces, melts completely into the mattress, on the edge of sleep, or maybe heat exhaustion. His voice comes out in mumbles. “Think ‘bout it.”

They fall asleep, eventually. Or rather, Aiden falls asleep, and Harvard can feel his breaths even out against his own skin. He stays awake for an indeterminate amount of time, until the TV is all static, trying to forget about Aiden and faceless heirs to fortunes, or handsome princes, or beautiful lovers. It’s a struggle. The heat doesn’t help.

He falls asleep too, eventually, but it’s a restless and dreamless night.

iv.

Fencing during the summer is awful, and Harvard had decided this early on, as a kid. Even now, he disliked wearing layers of polyester beneath the summer sun.

It was the last tournament of the year, mid-July. He’d been eliminated during the thirty-twos, but Aiden was still in, as was Kally. Coach had gone to check on the latter ten minutes ago now, leaving Harvard to deal with the fencing version of Aiden Kane, the one that was currently undoing and redoing his glove for the tenth time.

“It’s too hot in here,” Aiden stopped the glove abuse momentarily to tug at the collar of his jacket, where it pressed against reddened skin. Harvard looks up at the walls, grey and bare.

“I’m not sure they even have air conditioning. Might be too old of a building.”

“Should be a felony,” Aiden wrinkles his nose, starts tugging at his glove again, leaning forward on the chair he’s claimed. There’s another bout happening on the strip in front of them, and someone screams as they land a critical point.

Harvard nudges him, pushing at his shoulder. “You’re nervous.”  

“I’m not nervous,” Aiden looks down, probably trying to hide his face, but his hair is tied up, so Harvard still gets to see how he narrows his eyes at the floor. “I just want to get this over with.”

“No, you don’t, you just want to do well, and it scares you.”

Aiden pauses, completely this time, and turns those narrowed eyes onto him.

“When did I ever let you know me? Why?”

“‘Cause I’m the best friend you could ask for?” He pats Aiden’s shoulder, maybe a little too hard, because Aiden leans forward again, bristling. “You’ll do fine. Just stay focused.”

“It’s gonna be hard if my head’s swimming.” Aiden pouts, and Harvard shoves him his waterbottle, again. 

“Drink, dear god, it’ll help. You need your head clear.”

Aiden grimaces, but accepts the bottle and drinks near half of it in one go. Minutes later, he gets called to the strip, and twenty minutes after that— the bout’s won, and Harvard’s silently listening to Coach’s own recap of the holes in Aiden’s technique, pride shimmering bright in his chest.

Both he and Kally fall to the next bout, however, and the team is forced back to their hotel rooms, stuffy and hot. Tanner lands on the bed with a heavy sound, grumbling and complaining. Kally pats his shoulder.

Aiden pads across the room, then pulls his shirt over his head, balling it up and throwing it in the vague direction of his fencing bag. 

“We should go out for dinner,” He tugs on a clean shirt, then turns around and raises an eyebrow, waiting for a response. Tanner merely groans into his pillow. “What?”

Kally, who’d taken to resting sideways across Tanner’s back, lifts his head. “How aren’t you dead?”

“It’ll hit sometime later. Right now, I’m thinking we should distract ourselves from the shitshow we just endured.”

Harvard gestured vaguely to the air. “I wouldn’t call it a shitshow—”

“I would.” Kally raises a hand, adjusting his glasses. Tanner speaks something similar to me too into the pillow. “We barely passed pools. Aiden pissed off half of Lowther Hall in the locker rooms. Tanner even rolled off the strip.”

At this, Tanner pokes his head up. “It was a graceful tumble.”

“A tumble alright,” Aiden mutters. He’s moved onto fixing his hair in the mirror, brow furrowed. “Right into the referee.”

“For the record,” Tanner huffs, dropping back to the pillow. “It was all part of the plan.”

Kally pats his back, frowning. Aiden straightens again, seemingly satisfied with his look.

“All of which is a perfect reason for a night out on the town.” He looks expectantly at Harvard, a smile playing on his lips. “Right?” 

Harvard pauses, shifts from one foot to the other. “We do need to decompress.”

“That’s a yes! Hear that? Yes.” Aiden swats at Tanner, who somehow melts further into the mattress. “Tantan, come on, shoes and jacket.”

All the response he gets is a groan, but they eventually manage to leave the building, with Harvard wrangling Coach’s blessing from her even under a questioning gaze. The sun is just about setting, the sky a myriad of pink and orange shades. They wander around the streets aimlessly, Aiden with his hands in his pockets, careless.

They squabble over where to eat, until Harvard manages to convince the others and drag them to a small, cozy diner on the edge of town. They sit outside, on a small picnic table, and Harvard watches as Aiden picks away at the plastic covering as they talk. He’s resting his head in one hand, idly twirling a straw in his ice tea, listening to Kally’s dramatic retelling of Tanner’s last bout, and the dirt Aiden had managed to dig up on some other teams as the day had gone on.

“Have you seen the two of them? I mean, the sexual tension is all there.” Aiden smirks, points a french fry in Harvard’s direction. “All that matters is whether they’ve addressed it yet or not.”

He’s talking about two fencers, for sure. Probably someone they know, too, but Harvard can’t really bring himself to care. Aiden is smiling like that again, and the late-afternoon sun makes him glow, his eyes speckled with gold. He loses himself to the sound of aimless chatter, letting it wash over him in waves. His eyelids feel heavy with exhaustion and contentment, and he could sit there forever, just listening to the sound of Aiden laughing, laughing, laughing—

“Don’t you think? Harv?” He hums, refocuses his eyesight. Aiden is looking at him expectantly, waiting for an opinion. He straightens, suddenly, shaking himself awake.

“Sorry,” He ignores Kally’s pointed look. “I wasn’t listening.”

“And I work so hard to be a good gossip,” Aiden raises his eyes to the sky, exasperated, and turns back to the others. Harvard still feels the burn of those eyes on his skin. “Trust me. That is not just an ex-friend situation. There’s something more to it.”

Kally scratches his chin in thought, eyes to the sky, unaware of Tanner dunking three fries in his milkshake as he does so. 

“Coste did seem particularly shaken up.”

“That’s what I’m saying!” Aiden gestures with the fry again, and Tanner nods along sagely, eyes closed. “I mean, come on, France? Paris? The city of love? It’s almost heartbreaking how cliché it is.” 

Harvard hums again, summer breeze picking up and running over his skin. Tanner, Aiden and Kally keep talking, theorizing, and he offers his own comments from time to time. The sun sets slowly, and they finish their desserts when the sky is still a light purple, cloudless. 

It darkens even slower, fading into blues and blacks much later into the night, when Aiden is curled up against him, breathing softly.

v.

Mid-june brought forth a sticky, heavy kind of warmth. It still got cold in the evenings, and throughout the night, but not enough to stop post-final-exams extravaganza. Or so Aiden had called it, but the shirt he’d been wearing was far too tight, and a little see-through, so Harvard hadn’t been completely in the right state of mind to comment on his choice of words. 

He was at that extravaganza now, however, and his shirt was sticking to his skin with sweat. It was all mildly blurring together: the lights, the people, the chatter, the music. It was exactly the kind of place Aiden enjoyed sneaking off to every weekend.

Aiden had offered him, and some other seniors, tickets to some event his father seemed to be hosting. Hosting being a big word, given that Harvard had yet to see him. Not that he particularly wanted to. 

And, anyways, what kind of business event would be held in a three-story nightclub? And did the dresscode have to include anything near to Aiden’s outfit? He feared he’d never get the vision out of his mind— Aiden sitting on their bed, all smooth skin and wicked grin and perfect hair, shirt a little too revealing and pants a little too tight, promising it would all be fine, Harv, god!

It was not fine. Harvard had lost him about an hour ago now, and despite all the windows and doors being held open by intimidating security personnel, it was still far too hot and dark and stuffy in there. Kally and Tanner had long gone off somewhere on their own, but Harvard trusted them to be fine.

That left Aiden unchecked for.

Not that Aiden needed someone to make sure he was alright but— it made him feel better, let his head stop running for a moment.

He makes it out to the patio, where breathing comes a little easier. It’s not that he didn’t like parties— no, Aiden used to hate them, when they were kids, and he’d be the one to beg to leave early. Harvard had always liked to talk to people, get to know them, trade stories and laughs and, nowadays, a drink or two.

But it was summer, right at the beginning of it, and he needed Aiden at his side. More and more, recently, that seemed to be the only truth he knew.

The patio is scarcely illuminated, with the same pinks and blues the inside of the building is drenched in, and it isn’t necessarily quiet. There’s couples and groups mingling about, talking, swirling drinks that had long since watered down as the ice melted. The same music that bounces off the walls inside sneaks outside, though it’s mellowed and softer.

It’s large and full of twists and turns, and perfect for— for lovers. He tries not to think of that, even as he slides past another couple, and another, and another, tucked away in corners and edges.

He notices the color of Aiden’s hair, honey-blonde, against a stone pillar, before he notices the rest of the scene.

He’s pressed against the stone, an easy smile on his lips, talking to a man who has, at some point, placed a hand on his hip. Aiden doesn’t seem to mind, murmuring and nodding along to whatever his date is talking about. The man keeps inching closer, and closer, and Aiden does nothing to move, to get away. There’s a shine in his eyes that makes him look predatory— like he’s caught something to sink his teeth into.

Harvard hates it. Not the look itself— Aiden looks alluring and beautiful and dangerous— but the fact that it exists at all. The fact that Aiden is using up some lover who believes he’s got the upper hand, who thinks he’ll break Aiden’s heart. The fact that Aiden looks malleable in someone else’s hands, leaning in to speak in hushed tones, laughing into his hand. He hates the way his eyes darken, the way he bites his lip, the way he tilts his head, and the way his hair falls over in waves. And yet, he can’t really look away.

Because, hell, he hates that it’s not on him. That’s what he really hates. He hates that Aiden looks at someone else the way he dreams to be looked at, to be dissected, broken down under green eyes and pink lips. It’s a stupid, graceless thought and desire, but it still seizes his chest and squeezes. He can’t breathe, but not due to the humidity. 

He blinks, and Aiden is kissing the man now, and Harvard should really leave. He should really, really, leave, but it’s terribly hot inside, and there’s a pleasant breeze there, even if the air is heavy with want. He sways on his feet as Aiden threads a hand through his date’s hair, as he drags him one way and another to deepen their kiss, to trade spit and whispers.

The man’s hands slip under Aiden’s shirt, and Harvard can almost hear the way Aiden gasps at the touch, the heat of it, the arousal spiking through him.

It’s wrong, it’s wrong, so he shakes his head and turns around and all but stalks back inside. He’d have the rest of the summer to spend with Aiden, if he so wanted to wile away a night with someone else. He’d be fine. He’d been fine up to now. 

He wouldn’t stop Aiden from doing what he wanted. He never could— it just wasn’t in his nature. Since they’d been small, all he’d wanted was to give him everything. Now he couldn’t, there were things he couldn’t give him, kisses and sleepless nights and sex, and he felt uneasy just at the thought.

He pauses near a staircase, hand shooting out to hold onto the railing. His head is spinning.

He’d live. It would be fine.

He finds Kally and Tanner on the edge of the dancefloor, and when Aiden joins them again, his hair is wild and frazzled and there’s a bruise on his collarbone that no one comments on.

It all happens in quick succession: Aiden convinces Tanner to go dancing, which takes little to no effort at all, and that convinces Kally to go in turn. Harvard goes to protest, but Aiden’s fingers circle his wrist, and tugs at it, and he leans in. Harvard leans in, too. Just to hear him better.

“I wanna dance.” Aiden tugs again, and his eyes sparkle beneath purple lights. “Come on.”

“I’m a terrible dancer,” Aiden rolls his eyes, but tugs harder, and Harvard takes a few steps with him. Kally and Tanner are already lost to the sea of people. “This is really a horrible idea.”

“I can’t be wrong about you,” Aiden flashes him a smile, and he’s somehow allowed himself to be dragged in the middle of the dancefloor. Tiles light up beneath him, casting weird shadows across Aiden’s face. “No? Isn’t that what you said?”

“So you do listen to me.” He tries, but Aiden throws his arms around his neck, half a hug, half a way to make his heart stop. Aiden grins up at him, all green eyes, and a little glitter along his eyelids.

“From time to time.”

Harvard presses his lips together, holds his heart down, convinces it to stay in his chest instead of offering itself up to Aiden’s hands. He settles his hands around Aiden’s waist, and it shouldn’t feel dangerous, they’d done this a dozen times before, but it does. They dance, sweat, sing to each other. It’s the first night of summer, and Aiden’s back at his side, like always. 

They stumble home singing old songs, along empty streets. Stars shine far above their heads, and he ignores the bright, flickering feeling in his chest.

vi.

The greek coast is blinding under late-August sun, a mirage of whites and blues and turquoise shades. It’s all muted behind his sunglasses, but it’s still a beautiful sight. 

They had been left to lounge around the sundeck of Aiden’s father’s boat, alone and quiet for the foreseeable future. Some kind of business meeting had come up, though Aiden had appeared deeply skeptical of that excuse. Harvard thought it was kind of a blessing: Aiden acted much less on edge without his father around.

And Aiden was also quite the sight.

He was laying on white leather seats, in swim trunks, sunbathing, a soft, easy smile playing on his lips, sunglasses covering his eyes. He always glowed beneath the sun, smiles a shade brighter and freckles surfacing across his cheeks and shoulders.

Harvard, to avoid staring, had taken his seat by the railing, legs swinging over the edge, a meter or so above crystal clear water. He was very busy following schools of fish with his eyes, meaning he nearly jumps when fingers run across his back, one shoulder to the other. 

“I thought I’d heard you get up while I slept.” He looks up, and Aiden is grinning down at him, sunglasses pushed up into his hair. There’s a soft sunburn along his cheeks, following the curve where the glasses had sat. “Think about that. You’re in my dreams, Harvard Lee.”

You’re in mine, though I’m not sure you’d like them. He moves to make space as Aiden sits next to him, legs dangling. He offers up his own smile, and watches as Aiden crosses his arms over the railing, resting his head against them.

“Did I interrupt the beauty sleep?”

Aiden’s eyes go wide, suddenly alarmed. “Do I look like it?”

“No,” He looks, for once, well rested, relaxed. There’s a certain sharpness lacking in his features. “Pretty as always.”

“Thank god.” Aiden wrinkles his nose, horrendously cute. They’re close, so close that Harvard could count the light, barely-there freckles splattered across it, one by one like stars in the sky. 

Instead, he turns back to the sea, Aiden dozing off at his side. The boat rocks, and there’s barely any wind, nor any clouds. The sky stretches on and on, an infinite, blinding blue, the kind that makes afternoons unbearably hot inland. They’re off the coast of some small island, and he can see the white buildings in the distance, probably bustling with life.

“We’re docking into town tonight,” Aiden readjusts against the railing, turning to face him. “So we can run around for a bit. The food’s supposed to be good.”

“You’re not gonna run off after a cup of wine?”

“I won’t promise anything,” He grins, and Harvard can’t help but match it. Aiden tended to get unhelpfully curious and adventurous when wine-drunk. “But I’ll try to be good.”

A seagull screeches overhead, and Harvard is thrust back into his thirteen-year-old self, on the phone with Aiden, a couple worlds away. Now he’s here, and they’re sitting side by side, so he knocks their knees together. Just to prove this is real. Aiden knocks back, with a funny look donning his beautiful, sunkissed face.

“We should go clean up, then.” He scratches at the back of his neck, speaking quietly, as if to himself. “Since you’ll take hours to get ready.”

“Oh, hey, funny guy,” He endures Aiden’s swat, that’s more bark than bite, just to see how the flush on his skin deepens. “I’ll have you know I’m perfectly capable of being quick and efficient.”

Harvard raises an eyebrow, the many late-entrances-at-important-events he’d been a part of playing through his head, namely a series of weddings and Aiden’s own eighteenth birthday. Aiden’s grin sharpens, all-teeth.

“Or so I’ve been told.”

Harvard doesn’t deign that with a response, pushes Aiden away as he snickers to himself, and stands up carefully. He didn’t particularly want to mull over Aiden’s partners when he had him there, in his immediate vicinity.

Except— Aiden hadn’t gone on any dates while on their little vacation. Like, any. It made all kinds of emotions that he’d long stuffed in a box bubble to the surface, like the way his heart would stutter at the sunset spilling over Aiden’s skin, or the way he couldn’t stop his eyes from going wide every time Aiden undressed to change. It made him think, horrendously, wrongly, that maybe, just maybe— but, no. 

Aiden follows his queue, stands up as well, stretching his arms to the sky, letting out a soft sound. The metal bar of the railing only got up to his calf, so it’s not exactly safe, but the waters are tranquil and clear, and Harvard long had a grudge to set straight. About five years going. 

So it’s traitorous, sure, but he heaves Aiden up by the hips and throws him overboard. Aiden shrieks, plunges underwater, fish scattering around him to get away from the disturbance. When he resurfaces, his eyes are all murder, though it’s undermined by the wet hair sticking to his face.

“That’s war, Lee. You’ve just declared war.” He can’t help but laugh, as Aiden kicks through water and crawls back on board. More fish scuttle out of the way, in a dozen different directions. Aiden huffs, flicking his bangs out of his eyes. “And you're laughing, while taking advantage of the vulnerable.”

“Nah,” He rolls his eyes, fond and careless, as Aiden comes up to him, leaving a wet trail of footprints. The flush of a sunburn is more noticeable now, and he makes a mental note of taking sunscreen with them into town. “You’re barely vulnerable as it is.”

“Not around you, no.” Aiden gestured at himself, looking for his best friend’s pity, but all that was really highlighted was the curve of his waist, the lean muscle of his chest, and Harvard really should stop staring now. “Clearly.”

When Harvard fails to respond, Aiden cocks an eyebrow, a knowing look on his face. Shit. How often has he dealt with this exact kind of ogling? How many times had Harvard sworn himself to be different? Oh, he wants to be different—

Aiden seems unbothered, however, and brushes past him while wringing his hair out. Quite innocently, too. 

And Harvard, because he believes the best of Aiden, and sometimes overlooks what he very well knows about him to do so, fails to protect himself from revenge. 

Before he can really recognize what’s happening, he’s being pushed over the edge too, with a much too undignified sound. The Aegean sea is forgiving, though, and the water is a welcome coolness to his skin.

When he surfaces, Aiden is laughing, half bent over himself. It’s worth it.

vii.

Harvard loved his parents’ house.

It was an old, three-story, large-but-cozy mid-century building. They’d never moved, his whole life, and he loved being able to recognize the corners where he’d grown up: the railing he’d cut himself on at four years old, the steps he tripped up at seven, the wall where tiny notches marked his growth every year. His parents had always been careful in teaching him that growing up is a privilege, and all about chance.

Speaking of— his parents had left on a four-day trip, a visit to one of his aunts, and had left him with the keys in exchange for a promise to be good. Obviously, Aiden had come to sleep over, bag in one hand, bottle of rosé in the other.

It’s how they end up on the back porch, rocking on an old swingseat. It had possibly been his grandmother’s, at some point, at a time he couldn’t recall. He gently pushed back and forth with his foot against the bottom of the porch railing, Aiden tucked up against him. It’s early August, which means Aiden’s wearing an old, soft t-shirt that had once belonged to Harvard. It’s stretched around the neck, revealing soft collarbones. At some point, Harvard had placed an arm around him, and even with how hot it was, they rest against one another, silence only interrupted by the sounds of cicadas.

They’d cooked dinner together, which meant Harvard had cooked, and Aiden had sat on the counter offering unhelpful commentary, looking pretty and domestic. They’d chatted the evening away by discussing their imminent college dorm move-in plans. They’d room there together, too, and had long been debating which movie posters to bring with them. The sun had set as they ate, sneaking in through the open back door, and the way it had fallen across Aiden’s skin, orange and golden, made him feel like a dream. 

Not a dream. Definitely not a dream, as Aiden lazily flicked through the magazine in his hands, some tabloid or another. Harvard could feel him, solid and real under his hands. He feels the buzz of his voice in his chest when he speaks, soft and sweet.

“Do you think Nicholas and Seiji will be alright without us?” Aiden doesn’t look up from the magazine, but his thumb is rubbing over one specific point on the page, over and over.

“Why? Are you worried?”

“No, it’s just—” He feels Aiden’s sharp breath, then, all at once: “I don’t want someone to give them trouble when we’re half a world away.”

Yale really, really wasn’t that far, he wanted to say, but there’s real worry in the crease between Aiden’s brows. Something told him it wouldn’t help.

He reaches around the back of the swing, fixes one of Aiden’s bangs, receiving a wordless grumble in response. “A year ago you would’ve been the one giving them trouble.”

“I know.” Aiden looks up at him, grinning. “I’ve grown soft. It’s mostly your fault.”

“My fault? Might I remind you I was the first to get them in trouble?”

Aiden groans, magazine falling to his lap. “But it was only marginally funny. You did it to teach them a lesson. You wouldn’t even let me lock them in the supply closet!”

He tugs Aiden’s ear, warningly. “Because that’s not a prank, that would’ve been an opportunity for them to kill each other.”

“Or to makeout.”

Harvard hummed, raising his eyes to the sky, but it’s blocked by wooden slabs. There’s a soft pitter-patter, and a look to the side confirms that a soft rain has picked up, the humid, darkened skies kind.

“It’s sweet how you care about them. I think they’ll be fine. Eugene’s there to keep them in line anyways.” He nudges Aiden with his shoulder. “And we should go inside.”

“I like the rain,” Aiden’s voice is barely above a whisper, but it’s drowned out by the rainfall, falling harder and harder. Harvard could sympathize. Aiden reaches out a hand, catching droplets on his fingers. “It’s relaxing.”

“I don’t want you to get sick.” He takes Aiden’s hand and dries it off on his shirt. There’s blotchy red along his skin, where cold water had trickled down, down.

“If I do, you can just take care of me,” Aiden smiles, and there’s red along his cheeks too. He looks sweet, disarmed. He looks darling. “I know you like to.”

It’s a subtle truth, something neither of them had ever really said, but always known. He liked to take care of others— he loved to take care of Aiden. It quelled the ever present fear that wrapped around his chest of losing him. It put his heart to rest.

Except— when it hammered uncontrollably against his ribcage whenever Aiden looked at him like that, and whenever they were so dangerously close. He should have come to expect it by now— they had a push and pull, always, Aiden’s penchant for excitement and his own desire for tranquility. It made sense, then, that Aiden would make a mess of him.

Aiden shifts again, and he’s ever closer, but quiet, searching. Harvard has to look down at his lap, lest he does something he can’t take back. 

Aiden’s hand is still in his, and he fiddles with his fingers, presses on each knuckle, gently. “I just like to know you’re okay.”

“I’m okay,” Aiden shifts again, and this time he's closer, and closer, and he’s all green eyes and reddened skin. “With you, I’m okay.”

He just smiles, but Aiden presses on. 

“Harv,” Aiden sits up, thigh pressed hip to knee against Harvard’s. “Harv.”

He closes his eyes, hums in response. He can’t deal with any of this— Aiden is close, and so warm, and the rain falls, falls, falls.

He feels Aiden shift, and there’s a knee nudging his thighs apart, a soft weight settling on his left leg. 

The world pauses, droplets of rainwater hanging in mid-air. And, then, there’s soft lips pressed to the corner of his mouth. 

Soft, but warm, so, so warm. The rain starts falling again, the whole world picking up where it left off, and the sound drowns out every single thought he could’ve had. His heart skips a beat as thunder rages above them, lungs running out of air as lighting strikes behind his eyelids.

He opens his eyes, looks up at Aiden, the hair framing his face, and the electric look in his eyes—

He’s the most beautiful thing he’s ever seen.

“Oh,” Is all he manages, before he’s reaching up, and his hands are in Aiden’s hair, and their lips are touching again. Aiden makes a soft, surprised noise, and kisses back, kisses back, with fervor and tongue and trembling hands sneaking up their bodies to cup Harvard’s face.

The sky opens up then. It starts properly pouring, and Harvard can feel the breeze pushing droplets of rain onto them, cooling against his burning skin, but Aiden’s in his lap now, and he can’t think of much else, if at all. They’re kissing, and kissing, breathless, spit-slick, burning. His head spins.

Aiden breaks the kiss, seemingly reluctantly, by the way he stays close, lips brushing his own. Harvard can’t remember how they’d ever been apart, ever. He can’t even begin to question why.

“I was right.” Aiden’s mouth curves, and Harvard feels his grin against his own skin, the giddy, sweet kind. “Oh, I was right.”

“Aiden,” His voice is somehow hoarse, and Aiden rocks back, the whole loveseat rocking with them. Harvard suddenly finds his hands on Aiden’s hips, and when did they get there? But he squeezes, and Aiden doesn’t go far at all, just leans impossibly closer. “Stop not kissing me.”

“Shouldn’t we—”

“Aiden,” He squeezes again, and Aiden gasps in time with another round of thunder. “I don’t care, yes, yes, I’m in love with you, just, would you please—”

“Me too,” Aiden laughs, not seeing that Harvard might die beneath his hands, caged by his legs against a rusty swing, if he doesn’t get to kiss him again. “Oh, all this time—”

“Aiden,” And he knows he sounds half broken, voice hitching on a breath, but he can’t bring himself to care. Aiden finally, finally, understands, and he only catches a glimpse of green eyes before there’s hands grasping at his shirt, and they’re kissing again.

There’s a world, out there, beyond the two of them, he’s pretty sure. But he can’t be bothered to care about it, not while he’s dreaming, floating, the sound of his beating heart matching the pattering of the rain.

It rains, and it rains, dark and heavy like a curtain all around them, but they’re safe and sound. He’s warmed by Aiden, beautiful and bright and glowing beneath his hands, his own summer sun.

(viii.)

(It’s late, past midnight, and the storm has passed. It’s silent, except for the fan in the corner of the room, and the sound of cicadas in the distance. They’re spread out on Harvard’s bed, sheets kicked off, naked, still covered in a thin sheen of sweat.)

(He still struggles to think. They’d talked, and talked, and strained to keep their hands off each other, and now they were here. AidenandHarvard, HarvardandAiden tangled up in each other.)

(Aiden still has a hand against his chest, methodically twitching fingers. His face is half shoved against the mattress, eyes closed, and Harvard can’t stop staring at the smile on his lips. He keeps making soft noises of contentment, but remains asleep, in the blissful unaware.)

(He feels full of light. Like he could burst with it, bright and shimmering.)

(He stares at the love of his life, and he thinks how he loves the summer: the rain, the sun, the heat, the chill, the blinding blues and wavering purples and bright pinks. He thinks: this feeling, it’s limitless.)

(And, he thinks: this feeling, it’s blinding.)

(And, he turns, staring at the ceiling, he mouths to the dark: it’s love.)