It wasn’t a real date, so Harvard shouldn’t be nervous.
Somehow, he still was.
Probably, he told himself, he was nervous because this was his last chance at getting this dating thing right. He’d messed up with a girl, then messed up with a boy. From years of mapping out team strategy, Harvard knew how to pinpoint the recurring issue when a situation kept going wrong. Clearly when it came to dating, the problem was Harvard himself. Thank God Aiden had agreed to help him out.
He’d put on a button-down shirt, and then—in a panic—added cuff links. Dad said cuff links made an outfit look sharp, but old people made strange fashion choices. Harvard got worried looking at the cuff links, so he put on his leather jacket, but maybe the shirt and the jacket didn’t look right together.
Harvard made intense eye contact with the mirror, willing himself to be more reasonable. This was Aiden, who had seen Harvard wearing dinosaur footie pj’s. There was no possible way to impress him.
Aiden had called him cute yesterday. Obviously, Aiden had only said that to be a supportive friend, but it wouldn’t leave Harvard’s brain.
The door opened. Harvard started and knocked over the cuff link case.
Aiden was wearing a desperately clinging green cashmere sweater Harvard had never seen before. Harvard felt slightly uncomfortable about Aiden wearing a gift from one of his many pursuers on their date, but it would be outrageous to complain when Aiden was already doing him a huge favor.
“New sweater?” he asked in as neutral a voice as he could.
“Yeah, I just bought it,” said Aiden. “For our date?”
Harvard smiled. “You look—” began Harvard. “Um.”
Aiden knew how he looked.
“Amazing?” offered Aiden.
See, Aiden knew how good he looked. There was no need for Harvard to mention it.
“That’s good, paying attention to what your date wears. Next time you have a date with… Neil, comment on whatever it is he wears,” Aiden instructed.
Aiden always paused when he said Neil. Harvard guessed that Aiden had to take a minute to remember Neil’s name. He appreciated Aiden making the effort. Harvard tried to visualize what Neil generally wore.
“Shirts?”
“You could stand to be a little more specific than that.”
Harvard tried to remember the color of Neil’s shirts. “Flannel shirts?”
Aiden made a face. “Maybe you shouldn’t encourage that behavior.”
He shouldn’t encourage Aiden when Aiden was being mean and hilarious, so he only raised an eyebrow and repressed a smile. Aiden grinned as though he could tell about the smile Harvard hadn’t permitted himself.
“You look great,” Aiden added.
“Oh. Thanks,” said Harvard.
He knew Aiden didn’t really mean it, but it felt good to hear anyway. He felt a little less nervous.
Aiden held out his hand, and Harvard grasped it gratefully, linking their fingers together. He’d thought he would get used to holding hands, but every time it felt new and a little scary. At the same time, he didn’t want to let go.
Dating had gone wrong for him, but maybe fake dating could go right. He could trust Aiden. He could believe this plan would work out.
Maybe it was because of Aiden’s fair outings that fair-going had always seemed to Harvard like mostly a date activity. He’d always stayed home and practiced in the salle instead or hung out with Coach and made plans for the team’s improvement.
The fair was held on the outskirts of the town, so on one side were the fieldstone walls encircling Kingstone, and on the other the encroaching woods. In the trees, lanterns hung from the boughs, and twinkly lights peeped from behind the golden leaves, creating luminous pools and sweet little gleams of light in the dark. Even the evening sky still had a broad sweep of gold painted over the dark line of the trees, and the fair made one of the brightest nights Harvard had ever seen.
They walked through a line of vendors. At a maple stall, Aiden and Harvard bought fudge. The woman there was obviously charmed by Aiden and gave them many free syrup samples until Harvard’s brain felt like it was buzzing mildly inside his skull. At another, they had cider and cider donuts, which didn’t help with the skull-buzzing. And at another, they bought freshly made lavender lemonade.
Harvard downed his wild-blueberry pie with a cup of lemonade and thought the fair was really fun so far. He’d been missing out.
They strolled around hand in hand, and it was strange how not strange that was, the easy physicality that had always been between them translating effortlessly. It wasn’t slightly awkward like with Neil. Harvard supposed that was because they knew each other so well and it wasn’t real, so there was no pressure.
To celebrate Kings Row’s latest victory, there was a butter sculpture of a man fencing. The butter sword was melting slightly, but Harvard still pointed it out with pride.
“You should come to our next match,” he urged Aiden.
“Don’t nag, honey,” Aiden teased, then said: “Fine, I will. Happy?”
“Yeah,” said Harvard. “Very.”
A guy working at the fair whistled at Aiden, but then shrugged and said, “Can’t blame a guy for trying!” when Harvard raised an eyebrow at him. Aiden truly didn’t seem bothered by it, only shaking back his hair, mouth curving.
One of the best things about this arrangement was that now Harvard got to stop guys from admiring Aiden and whisking him away. He was allowed to. For a little while.
They paused by the ring-toss.
“Hey,” said Harvard. “Didn’t you say you wanted to win a friend for Harvard Paw?”
Aiden hesitated. “I might have.”
“Let’s try it out,” Harvard suggested. “My aunt told me these games are set up so you think you should be throwing a couple inches to the right of where you should really throw. It’s an optical illusion our own eyes create for themselves.”
The guy working the ring-toss didn’t look impressed by this information, but Aiden did a little. In any case, he was smiling at Harvard, and that seemed encouraging.
Harvard threw a green ring, and what his aunt said must have been true, because he won.
He turned around and gave the stuffed giraffe he’d won to a passing child with pigtails. She stared up at Harvard uncertainly. Her mother regarded him with a doubtful gaze. Harvard gave the mother a reassuring smile.
Being reassuring didn’t always work—ever since Harvard was eight years old, certain people hadn’t found him reassuring, as he was both Black and tall—but in this case it did. The mother might also have noticed her child was now clinging to her giraffe, and it was clear she would scream if parted from her new toy.
“Thank you,” the little girl’s mother said stiffly.
Harvard said, “No problem.”
The mother swept on, the kid waving shyly as they went. Harvard gave her a little wave back. She gave him a big gap-toothed smile and his own grin was pure reflex.
“What?” Harvard asked Aiden, who was watching him with an expression Harvard couldn’t read.
Aiden gave a little smile, not meant to charm and thus entirely charming, and shrugged the matter off. “I’m horribly offended and insulted you gave away the first stuffed animal you won on our date. You shouldn’t… do anything like that with Neil. You should make it up to me. Win me a bear.”
Harvard concentrated, since this time it was important, carefully measuring the difference between actual depth and the perception of depth. Harvard threw, and the yellow plastic ring flew and spun and settled onto the peg.
Harvard looked around for Aiden to ask which stuffed animal he wanted, and was quietly pleased when he turned and Aiden was right there, taking his hand.
“Well done, baby,” Aiden whispered—oh, a dating thing to call somebody. After a surprised moment, Harvard smiled, the taste of lemonade bright in the back of his mouth. That was sweet.
“Wanna pick a bear?”
Aiden’s small smile was like the sparkle behind the leaves, hinting and promising at light. “First, show me how to win my own.”
“I’ll do my best.”
He put a hand on the small of Aiden’s back and positioned him in the correct stance. Aiden promptly dropped the plastic ring he was holding. Harvard picked up the ring for Aiden, shaking his head. He guided Aiden’s arm for the practice throw, leaning in to ask if he could see where it should land. When Aiden glanced back, Harvard smiled at him encouragingly, closing an arm around Aiden’s bicep and squeezing in a reassuring fashion.
The ring Aiden threw almost hit the guy behind the stall in the head.
“Wow, that wasn’t good,” Harvard said. “You’re not good at this!”
Aiden gave him an outraged look. Harvard supposed he was partly to blame for not being a skilled teacher, but he still couldn’t lie and say the throw had been good. Without honest feedback, how was Aiden supposed to improve?
He picked out a bear about the same size as Harvard Paw, who had an approachable air… for a bear.
“You’re bad at this game, but you’re still cute,” he told Aiden, and gave him the bear. “There, a friend for Harvard Paw at last. What do you want to do next?”
Aiden was hesitating. Harvard was suddenly concerned he’d messed up. Maybe he shouldn’t have said that.
Harvard had won the bear and so he’d thought he might be allowed to call Aiden cute; Aiden had said Harvard was cute yesterday, so he’d been thinking… that must be an acceptable thing to say. Surely Harvard hadn’t messed up too badly yet. Surely everything was okay.
Aiden tucked his new bear under his arm. He paused for long enough that Harvard worried everything wasn’t okay after all, but when he spoke his voice was soft. So Aiden must have only been thinking through his fairground options. “I think it would be nice to go on the Ferris wheel with you.”
Harvard wasn’t actually crazy about heights, but he wanted Aiden to enjoy himself, so they went and Harvard tried not to focus on the ground. He had good feelings about the ground when they were together, but he became deeply uncomfortable when he and the ground were apart.
It became far easier not to focus on the ground when Aiden said, “You should put your arm around me.”
“Sure,” said Harvard, thankful for the guidance. He did. “Like this?”
His arm slid easily around Aiden’s shoulders, and Aiden’s body fell in naturally against his. The lights of the Ferris wheel, gold and blue and crimson, caught and sparkled and spangled in Aiden’s long, curling lashes. Aiden turned in toward him, and Harvard mirrored the movement without thinking, chests pressing together.
Aiden murmured, “Just like that. Then I distract you from the heights!”
He was pretty distracting, all right. The fairground beneath them became a background, blurred, like a calm sea of multicolored lights beneath them.
As they departed the Ferris wheel, they ran into someone who was a spot of darkness among the bright lights. Jay was one of Aiden’s many exes, if you could describe guys who Aiden saw for one wild never-to-be-repeated night as exes. Some of those guys accepted this with the philosophical attitude that good things were not meant to last. Some of them took it hard.
Harvard had felt bad for Jay at the time. Now that he saw Jay storming toward them with narrowed eyes fixed on Aiden’s and Harvard’s linked hands and a clear intent to spoil their evening, Harvard felt considerably less bad for him.
“Oh, so that’s how it is?” Jay snapped.
“That’s how it is,” Harvard responded in a level voice.
Jay didn’t even glance at him. His eyes were fixed on Aiden, as they usually were, hungry and mad about it.
“I guess this was always gonna happen.” Jay’s smile was humorless. “But you wanted to, what’s the phrase, sow your oats? Have fun with as many people as you could before you finally put Harvard out of his misery?”
It was such a bizarre misread of the situation that Harvard didn’t know what to say. What he couldn’t say was that this was a fake date, and Aiden was just doing his romantically inept best friend a favor. He went quiet.
“Thanks for your input, Z!” said Aiden. “Or whatever letter of the alphabet you are. I don’t know why you imagine you were so much fun, but can you get lost?”
“Or what?” snapped Jay.
He took a step forward, as though he figured it would make him feel better to fight.
Harvard took a step forward, putting himself in the middle.
“Hey,” said Harvard. “Stop it. Aiden never promised you anything. I’m sorry your feelings are hurt. But that doesn’t give you the right to lash out at him. You can want him to like you, and be upset that he doesn’t. But you don’t get to expect that he’ll like you, and you don’t make yourself look like a good guy by making a scene.”
Jay’s eyes fell from Harvard’s, head hanging as he muttered, “You don’t understand.”
“Sure, I do. I’m sure you think you’re a good guy, because you’re nice when things are going your way, but you’re being awful right now. The time you learn if someone’s a loser,” said Harvard, “is when you see how they lose.”
That made Jay’s head jerk back up.
When it did, Jay’s smile had twisted in on itself. “And now get lost?”
“Do whatever you want,” said Harvard. “I already saw you lose a match. And now I know why you did.”
Jay slunk off without another word. A cold drop of water fell on Harvard’s nose, and he glanced up. Clouds were twisting above the Ferris wheel and the treetops, tangled like his Meemee’s dropped knitting.
“Hey, it’s starting to rain.”
Aiden’s voice was mild. “Is it? I guess I didn’t notice, what with the radiant heat from the epic burn you just delivered.”
Harvard’s gaze traveled from the sky to Aiden and stayed there. Aiden didn’t look particularly upset, but Harvard felt he should check anyway.
“Was I too mean? I just—I hate it when your guys get demanding. I always have. Just because you’re… you, it doesn’t mean they have a right to act that way. I always wished I could step in when they behaved like that. I’m sorry if I went too far.”
“Don’t be sorry. You should do it all the time,” Aiden urged. “They are trash. Throw them away.”
“Wow, buddy, don’t, like, give up on love,” said Harvard. “There are good ones out there.”
A look of extreme irritation crossed Aiden’s face, and Harvard was puzzled before he realized he was epically failing at practice dating right now.
He was about to apologize for saying buddy when the heavens opened and poured down a deluge onto their heads. The gold lights of the fair blurred with continuous silver.
“Where’s your raincoat?” Harvard said, and when Aiden made a face: “Aiden.”
“Carrying around a stupid bulky raincoat detracts from my air of insouciance!” Aiden protested.
This was why Aiden got colds all the time, Harvard was sure. Harvard got out his raincoat from his backpack and covered both their heads and also Harvard Paw’s new friend.
“Does it, you insouciant idiot?” Harvard muttered fondly.
There were people splashing past in the mud and quickly forming puddles, and laughter ringing behind the sound of the drumming rain. Aiden slid his hands under Harvard’s leather jacket. “This is romantic,” he informed Harvard. “Young couple caught in the rain with only one coat to shield them from the elements!”
“I don’t know that I find this romantic. It’s happened constantly since we were ten!” Harvard said in severe tones.
“You’d find it romantic if it were Neil!” Aiden paused. “Which is why I’m telling you this. Next time it rains, you can seize your opportunity.”
“Next time it rains, I’ll probably be worrying you’ve wandered out somewhere with no raincoat or jacket,” said Harvard.
Aiden hummed, sounding pleased again, and ran his cold nose down near Harvard’s ear, since he knew Harvard wouldn’t push him out into the rain, though Aiden deserved it. Harvard pushed him a little, and then caught his arm so he wouldn’t stumble out of cover, and Aiden snickered.
“Yeah, yeah, you,” said Harvard, and held the raincoat over their heads as they made a run for it to Kings Row, Aiden clutching his new bear and laughing and being absolutely no help whatsoever.
By the time they reached the hall, both were laughing and had got more than a bit wet. Aiden’s sweater was clinging far more than it had been before. Harvard couldn’t believe Aiden hadn’t even worn a jacket today. He hauled him up the back stairs toward their room, footprints leaving a watery trail on the mahogany steps behind them as they went.
At their door, Aiden hesitated. Harvard leaned against the doorframe, looking over Aiden’s shoulder at the rainy dark through a mullioned window rather than at Aiden’s sweater.
“Was this okay?” Harvard asked. “Was it kind of like your first date, the one at the fair a couple years back? That’s why you wanted to go, right?”
Aiden must have liked that guy more than Harvard realized.
“This was like the first date I wanted,” Aiden said eventually.
“Oh,” said Harvard. “I’m sorry.”
First-date guy must have turned out to be a jerk.
Harvard removed his gaze from the window, skipped over looking at Aiden, and frowned at the floor, miserable at the idea of Aiden being hurt—he’d never seemed as if he could be hurt by any of those guys—when there came a sudden warm interruption to his worries.
“Nothing to be sorry for,” Aiden murmured, leaning against Harvard. “I had a really good time.”
Oh, Aiden was right there. Oh.
Harvard glanced up, and then found himself unable to look away.
“Me too,” he whispered. “What should come next?”
As soon as he spoke, he knew the answer. He hadn’t realized what he was saying.
Or had he?
A teasing smile was playing around Aiden’s mouth. “What should come next, when you’re at someone’s door after a date that went well? Come on, Harvard. You know what.”
A kiss at the door, after a date. Harvard’s first kiss.
Harvard’s stomach swooped and curled.
He couldn’t tear his gaze away from Aiden’s smile.
“That’s what that girl wanted. That’s what Neil was waiting around on the porch for after every date.” Aiden added, “I assume he did.”
The idea of Neil was distant and uncomfortable with Aiden this close. Aiden must have caught the flash of unease as it crossed Harvard’s face.
“Just so you know, for the future,” Aiden told him. “Hey. I, uh, I know this is…”
Aiden was speaking very low. Harvard had to lean in nearer just to hear him.
“I know we’re talking about your first kiss. You don’t have to do anything. Consider me kissed. Or…” Aiden paused again. Time drew out for a long moment, as Aiden’s teeth drew slowly across his own lower lip. “If you wanted to practice this… then I would like to. It’s up to you.”
Aiden was being so good about this. Harvard felt terrible taking advantage of his kindness.
But Aiden had said he would like to.
Consider me kissed.
“No?” asked Aiden.
Harvard whispered, “Yes.”
“What was it you said?” Aiden mused. “If you don’t like it. You should tell me.”
Aiden curled his fingers around the loops of Harvard’s jeans and pulled him in a fraction closer. Aiden kissed him. Aiden’s mouth was soft. The whole kiss was soft, like a question gently asked.
Then, a little less soft. Harvard liked it.
This was new territory for him. He was in a place between terrified and thrilled, tipping one way and then another as Aiden’s kiss deepened and his head spun.
A kiss at the door. That made sense, as a thing to do at the end of the date. It didn’t matter that this was their door, because it was just for practice. Harvard only had to follow Aiden’s lead.
A kiss at the door wasn’t exactly one kiss, it turned out—any more than rain was only one raindrop. Aiden kissed him and held him pressed up against the doorframe as though Harvard wanted to get away, when Harvard wanted anything but. Harvard slid an arm around Aiden’s waist, grasping a soaked handful of Aiden’s sweater. Harvard was reliably able to reproduce any fencing move he was shown. He had to be shown only once, and he’d know the rules. But this wasn’t fencing, this was kissing, and there were no rules. Aiden’s mouth tasted of lavender lemonade, and the warmth of his body was radiating right through his wet clothes. Aiden ran his hands up the lines of Harvard’s arms and shoulders. Harvard’s hand went to the nape of Aiden’s neck, tangling in his hair, pulling so the elastic came loose and the rain-dampened hair fell around their faces. The wet hanks of Aiden’s hair got in the way of the kiss, and Aiden pushed them back with a confused murmur of complaint as though he didn’t understand what his own hair was.
Harvard pulled back from the lavender-lemonade kisses to murmur, “I love your hair.”
“Stop not kissing me,” Aiden commanded softly. “Stop it at once.”
Harvard kissed Aiden’s mouth and his jaw and the cool raindrops running down Aiden’s throat as heat ran under Harvard’s skin. Aiden made another, different sound, hands falling away from his hair to cup Harvard’s face between his wet palms, and smiled, biting at the corner of Harvard’s mouth. Harvard made a helpless noise. Aiden half murmured and half moaned in return, sounding both pleased and wounded, and arched in even closer.
That is so sexy, Harvard thought, and froze in horror.
At that precise moment, there came the loud sound of many pairs of footsteps clattering up the stairs. Harvard and Aiden broke apart. Harvard realized that they’d been sliding down against the doorframe, pressed together. They’d almost tumbled onto the floor.
And then what? What had he thought he was doing? Harvard was extremely disappointed in himself.
There was always much discussion of Aiden’s… wiles or whatever. Harvard usually tried not to listen, since this was his best friend, thank you very much, but sometimes you couldn’t help overhearing.
So… good wiles, buddy! Everybody who kissed Aiden felt the same way. Harvard already knew that. He’d known that for years, seen a hundred boys cut off at the knees by Aiden. He’d set them on their feet and given them a pat on the back, and always believed he was different. He was Aiden’s best friend. He wasn’t going to be like Jay.
Harvard took a deep breath and reminded himself to be different. He nodded thanks, not quite able to speak just yet, then swung open the door so he had space to take a step back.
“Leave it at the door, right?” murmured Aiden.
“Yeah.” Harvard’s voice scraped in his throat. “Leave it at the door. Right.”
They weren’t standing far apart, but it seemed as if there was too much distance between them. Harvard tried to think of a way to show that he was grateful, and he wasn’t presuming anything like the other guys did. This was practice.
“Thanks,” he said awkwardly. “I’m sure… I think Neil will like that?”
Aiden nodded, still distant. “He’ll like it.”