Menton harbor after the sun went down was like an oil painting of heaven in the evening. The towers and buildings of the town still glowed sunshine gold, holding on to the sunset like light trapped in amber. The sea was black already but painted with electric lights. Bold, brilliant stripes of color went blurred at the edges against the waves, as though the oil in the painting was running.
It was all so beautiful, and Harvard didn’t care. He just wanted to see Aiden.
As he ran down the esplanade toward the waterfront, he passed by Bobby and Dante, taking a walk along the harbor by moonlight. Bobby was shivering slightly in his thin silk top.
“Here,” said Dante, taking off his blazer. “There’s a postcard from Italy for you in the pocket,” he added when Bobby hesitated.
Bobby’s face scrunched in a confused smile. “Why did you get me a postcard when you saw me at breakfast that morning, and you knew you were going to see me that evening?”
Dante shrugged. “Guess I was thinking about you.”
Bobby hesitated, then gave a sudden decisive nod, and Dante draped the blazer onto Bobby’s thin shoulders. It was extremely big on him.
“Thanks, Dante,” said Bobby, wrapping the blazer around himself like a huge blanket. “It’s really warm.”
“Bobby…,” said Dante.
“Yeah?” Bobby glanced up. “Talk to me.”
Dante visibly searched for words, failed to find them, and muttered, “Tell you later.”
He sent you postcards every day whenever he went away, to say, Thinking of you, pointed out Arune’s voice in Harvard’s mind, and Harvard winced.
The yachts were lined up in the harbor like tethered white clouds floating on the water. Harvard didn’t need to ask anyone which boat belonged to Aiden’s father. He knew it would be the largest and most ostentatious.
As he ran along the dock and then scrambled onto the yacht, he saw stars shivering in the sea, faint light wavering on the surface of dark, troubled waters. He was terrified of what he had to do, but he wasn’t letting Aiden down again.
The yacht was suspiciously still and silent, when Harvard had expected the happy bustle of a party. He crept through the mirrored hallways until he finally heard the low, familiar murmur of Aiden’s voice.
“I shouldn’t,” Aiden was saying. “It’s too wicked. How could I live with myself?”
Harvard hesitated, with his hand pressed to the gleaming mahogany of the door. Was some guy fooling around with Aiden already? A sick, scraping feeling began in his chest, as if there were a trapdoor opening there and all of Harvard’s insides were falling through.
“I don’t care,” Aiden decided. “I have no conscience. I’m eating a fifth cupcake.”
Harvard drew in a deep, relieved breath and pushed open the door to reveal a ballroom, a gleaming parquet floor and a chandelier like a multifaceted crystal glass filled with ice. The sliding double doors of the ballroom were folded back to reveal the master bedroom, which seemed to be mostly a wide bed made up with white linen and turquoise silk sheets. Aiden was sitting at the foot of the bed in formal wear. His hair was loose, and his bow tie untied. Harvard Paw was propped up to sit by his side, and he had a frosted cupcake in hand. Aiden was also whispering seductively to his teddy bear, but Harvard didn’t feel equipped to deal with that issue.
Aiden glanced up at the sound of the door opening. His eyes widened fractionally, but that was all. Harvard looked at those well-known and well-beloved eyes, a darker green than usual, and thought, Troubled waters. This was his fault. He had to make it right.
“Hey, Harvard,” murmured Aiden.
“Hey, Aiden,” said Harvard. “I love you.”
Aiden blinked and put his cupcake down. “I love you, too, buddy,” he said in a light, careful voice, his words like the footsteps of someone walking a tightrope over blades. “Is something wrong?”
Yes, something was wrong. Something was wrong with Aiden, and now Harvard was looking properly, without his own assumptions and doubts in the way, it was so clear. Aiden’s mouth pulled tight on the word buddy and always had. How had Harvard not seen before?
“Shouldn’t I be asking you that?” asked Harvard. Then it occurred to him that he’d come to confess to Aiden, not force Aiden to any painful revelations. He’d caused Aiden enough pain. He continued, after a brief pause, “What happened to the party?”
“Called it off. I’m not really in a party mood,” said Aiden.
“Are you feeling sick?” Harvard asked anxiously, then realized the more likely answer. “Oh God. Am I intruding? Do you have plans?”
Terror was a rapid, continuous rush in Harvard’s ears, like the sound of the sea. Aiden only shook his head, his face confused.
“I can go if you do,” Harvard told him gently. “I will go. I won’t stay long, and I don’t expect anything from you at all. I just wanted to say this: Aiden, I’m so sorry.”
There was a smile beginning to curl up at the corners of Aiden’s mouth, indulgent. It might be the last time Aiden ever smiled at him that way.
“I don’t have plans. I thought… what’s the point? And I didn’t have an answer. Why are you sorry? Whatever it is, I forgive you. If you killed somebody, it’s fine. We have the Mediterranean to hide the body in. Harvard Paw and I will provide a foolproof alibi. Come tell me, I’m curious. What horrible thing have you done?”
Harvard had always wanted to do the right thing, to fix problems and never cause them. Because he’d tried to think of other people first, he’d never imagined he could have power over Aiden. He’d assumed Aiden had the power, that Harvard was the only one who could be hurt, and Harvard was too scared of being hurt to take down his defences and tell Aiden what he wanted. Harvard was still scared. He didn’t know if he could do this.
He looked at Aiden’s smile, which Aiden was wearing even though he was in pain. For Harvard’s sake. Harvard felt something almost like seasickness. The ground he’d stood on all these years was gone.
This was the person he loved best in the world, the person Harvard would have sworn he’d never hurt. But he had hurt him. He had, and until he told the truth, he would still be hurting Aiden.
Harvard gathered all his courage, and confessed, “I lied to you.”
Amusement died in Aiden’s voice. “What?”
“I’m so sorry, Aiden,” said Harvard. “I know you rely on me to tell you the truth, to always be there for you. I always intended to be that, to be a safe place for you, but I didn’t manage it. I didn’t want to hurt you. I didn’t want to get hurt. Do you remember when I told you that I only wanted to be friends because I didn’t want to fall in love with you?”
His voice distant now, Aiden answered, “Of course I remember.”
Of course he did. Aiden had trusted him, and Harvard had lied, but it was time to tell the truth now. He was so scared of what would happen when he said it, scared of what might change, scared he was too late. But he had to face the truth.
He couldn’t watch Aiden’s face when he told him. So he fixed his eyes on the ballroom floor instead, and began to speak.
“That was the lie I told you. I’d only realized what I wanted the night before. I was terrified of losing you. I should have realized how I felt about you before, but how do you see the planet you live on? The air you breathe? It was always there. It was too big for me to see. You were always just there. I could look at you every day, the same way I can look at the stars every day. I never had to think about how much I wanted to look.”
“I don’t—I don’t understand.” Aiden sounded fraught. “What are you saying?”
“I love you.” Desperate to avoid any further terrible and painful confusion, frantic to get it all out, Harvard clarified: “I’m in love with you.”
Quiet followed, broken only by the sound of the boat rocking.
Harvard waited, his heart a hammer counting the silent seconds. There was a pit in his stomach threatening to swallow him whole. The more the silence grew, the wider the pit yawned. He’d said it wrong, he was too late, he’d missed his chance, their friendship was over, he—
“You mean it?”
Aiden’s voice was trembling. He must be really upset.
Harvard had hurt him too much. He couldn’t make up for his lie or for the years of accidental cruelty before that. All Harvard could do was be truthful and apologize and leave.
“I do,” said Harvard. “I really do. I’m so sorry, I wish I was saying it better. I’m not great at making speeches. But I’m good at meaning them. I love you so much. If I meant it less, I could have told you before.”
“That’s all I need to hear,” Aiden said abruptly. “You don’t need to say anything else.”
“Okay,” said Harvard. “I—thanks for listening. I’m sorry. I’ll go.”
His plan was to get out of there as fast as he could. But something stopped him. There were arms around his neck suddenly, a body against his chest blocking his way, Aiden sliding in close. When Harvard looked up from the gleaming ballroom floor, startled, Aiden leaned in and kissed him.
Harvard had barely been able to think before, with panic running riot through his veins, and now thought became entirely impossible. Everything was drowned out, as if he were submerged, every sense flooded with the taste and scent and feel of Aiden. Harvard didn’t want to surface. He resented it when Aiden pulled back, even a little.
“Fool,” murmured Aiden against his mouth, so sweet. “I love you back. I loved you first. You’re not going anywhere. You’re never getting rid of me now.”
“What?” Harvard whispered, not daring to believe it was still true, hardly able to believe it was true at all. “Aiden. You can’t mean that. Don’t—don’t pity me. It’s fine, I’ll be fine, you don’t have to lie. Since when?”
He tried to pull away. Aiden wouldn’t let go.
“Hmm,” said Aiden. “Let me think. Since about the time when you gave me a teddy bear, believing I wanted it because I couldn’t stop following you around.”
He sounded serious, but he couldn’t possibly be serious.
“But—but…,” stammered Harvard. “That was—”
“A long time ago. Yeah.”
“You could have had anyone. There were all those guys.…”
Aiden began to look not only serious but annoyed. “When did I ever care about any of them? I could not have been more transparently indifferent! I get name amnesia!”
“That’s not because—that’s just how you are. You never remember anybody’s name!”
“Don’t I?” Aiden drawled, and the amusement was back in his voice. “Harvard. Harvard. Harvard. I love you.”
He was walking backward, pulling Harvard in, pulling him close and still closer. Hearing his own name in Aiden’s voice, repeated in that way, let Harvard open his eyes. For just a moment, he let himself believe what he saw. Aiden’s eyes were on him, clear, green, and profoundly, shockingly tender. Harvard had been so afraid.
Now Harvard dared to look into the depths of dark troubled waters and found them unexpectedly illuminated. Everything was brilliant and clear.
“Why…” Harvard swallowed. “Why did you always send me postcards when you went away, that said, Thinking of you?”
“Because I’m always thinking about you,” Aiden answered.
He looked as though he might kiss Harvard again, so Harvard foiled his plan. Harvard kissed him first. Aiden was only a shade shorter than he was, but Harvard wanted to keep him close, so he tucked his head down to kiss Aiden and keep him close at the same time. Somehow wanting to cherish and keep Aiden turned a little wild, a bright feeling with burning edges, and Aiden was undoing his shirt buttons as they tumbled down onto the bed.
Aiden’s hair, starlight bright, obscured the rest of the world, and he spoke as though he were reading the words written on Harvard’s own heart.
“My whole life,” he said, “this is all I ever wanted.”
He kissed Harvard and twined around him, while Harvard tangled his fingers in Aiden’s hair and started to believe.
“Really. And now I have it,” Aiden murmured. “You can’t take it back. You have to promise.”
He rolled Aiden over on the bed, safe in the shelter of Harvard’s arms, and captured Aiden’s face in his hands. Beautiful and his. He wasn’t taking starlight for granted, not ever again.
“I promise,” whispered Harvard. “I mean it. You can trust me.”
Aiden smiled, grasping hold of Harvard’s shirt collar, pulling him down. His hands slipped inside Harvard’s shirt. When Aiden’s fingers brushed skin, Harvard gasped, and Aiden made a soft noise, wordless encouragement, only the first of many loving, lovely sounds to come.
Aiden said, “Always have.”