Archive of Our Own

November, for several reasons, is Aaron’s least favourite month. He finds it a bit cliché to hate it solely because it begins with his birthday, the time of the year he dreads the most for the shitstorm that always seems to brew around it. So sometimes he’ll make a list of other things he doesn’t look forward to in November, just so he remembers there are worse things in life: the Foxes singing Happy Birthday seriously off tune, Neil Josten, Exy practice interrupting his studies, his school work taking priority over lying in bed for several hours. He would have continued reciting but the car jerks violently to the left—in a small panic, Aaron reaches up to grip the handle above his door with one hand and throws the other out to slap Andrew’s shoulder, as if that can do anything if he suddenly flies out of his seat—before it’s righted.

Andrew cruises to a stop at an intersection, actually obeying the sign instead of just slowing down and speeding up, and affectionately pats the steering wheel.

“What the fuck?” Aaron demands. He is not jealous of the car but he is mildly annoyed that Andrew did not bother to ask him if he’s all right.

Andrew side-eyes him, his gaze judging Aaron for what he considers to be an overreaction. “There was a pothole,” he explains, an edge of defensiveness in his voice. Aaron would have understood and left it at that if Andrew didn’t add: “The car is fine, though.”

With as much negative feeling as he can muster, Aaron tells him, “You suck.”

Andrew fixes his eyes back to the road and keeps driving. “You’re fine too.”

“I’m so glad you checked.”

“The telepathic twin bond told me so.”

Aaron settles back into his seat and doesn’t answer that, but he does roll his eyes. He is fine, he is just miffed, having been rattled from his thoughts this way and relegated to priority below the fucking car. Aaron spitefully adds another item to his list: Spending the day with Andrew—although it’s always a toss-up whether the day will be a hit or a miss.

Three years ago, Andrew kicked Aaron awake and told him they were going out. Whenever Aaron asked Where the fuck are we going? Andrew answered him with an impatient glare or didn’t bother looking at him at all. The only time Andrew said anything was when he told him to pick a number between one and five in the car. Aaron picked four, and the next thing he knew, they were at a cafe with four-point-something stars on Google, staring intently at a display of assorted pastries. (The rest of the day was average: Andrew dropped him off at the house and they didn’t talk to each other again until the next morning. That’s a hit in Aaron’s books.)

It’s a bit of a tradition now, though Aaron does not require being kicked awake anymore when Andrew comes to collect him. He suspects that this annual outing is Andrew’s way of making a string of shitty birthdays a little less shitty, for the both of them, and Aaron can appreciate it even if he doesn’t know how to say it. This year, Andrew didn’t ask him to pick a number, he just dragged him along.

Eventually, Andrew turns into a plaza and parks in front of a store nestled into a corner. Because Andrew refused to tell him where he was taking him, it’s now that Aaron finds out they’ve taken a trip out of town to a place called Kevin’s Dessert Shop.

“What’s the rating?” Aaron asks.

“Two-point-eight.”

“Oh, that’s bad.” Aaron grins at Andrew. “Kevin’s gonna hate that.” Never mind the fact that Kevin Day has no affiliation with this plain-looking bakery—if it bears his name and has poor reviews, he’ll take it personally.

“I know,” Andrew says sagely, a wicked grin of his own appearing and disappearing as quickly as it’d come. He throws his car door open to step out, and Aaron takes a moment to revel in momentary camaraderie—nothing brings them together like the thought of annoying Kevin does—before following him.

Inside the store, there’s a single clerk behind the counter and not very many options to choose from on display. The neon yellow lemon tarts with cracks running along the tops have Aaron frowning, while Andrew takes his time to observe each selection with equal interest. Aaron knows that Andrew knows he will pick up something chocolate, likely the triple chocolate cupcake topped with the days-old icing of an upsetting brown colour, so his pretending to look at everything else is a waste of time. Aaron nudges Andrew with his elbow to hurry him up and gets a hard nudge back; he decides that’s all he’ll risk before Andrew opts to pick up a plastic fork and stab him or something.

As predicted, Andrew gets the chocolate cupcake, and Aaron chooses for himself a vanilla cupcake with strawberry-flavoured frosting and assorted sprinkles.

They take a seat at the only table available for customers. Aaron fishes out of his pockets two cheap birthday candles and sticks the pink one in Andrew’s hard frosting, and the other yellow one in his own. Andrew lights them up with his Zippo and they both sit back to think about their birthday wishes. Neither of them particularly cares for wishes, but participating in this over the years has become tradition too.

Today has thankfully been a normal day, so Aaron is relieved he doesn’t have to waste his wish asking for the day to improve. Aaron has a bigger wish to fry, anyway, a new problem to address—the kind that pins Aaron down with his stupid green eyes and that, he anticipates, can ruin his life if he doesn’t get it under control. And if Aaron wants to get into med school, he doesn’t have time for ruination.

It started like this: The both of them, drunk in a corner at Eden’s, swallowed by the crowd. Kevin looked at him with a dark look Aaron didn’t understand, so he pulled him down closer by the collar and Kevin came willingly, crashing their mouths together. Aaron was startled and might have pushed him away if the crowd hadn’t surged with the music, keeping their bodies pressed together—if he just hadn’t kept kissing him.

Aaron had the capacity to be shocked the next time they kissed, alone in their shared house on a beanbag chair that tipped as they moved. Kevin had been across the room one moment, receiving Aaron’s hostile thoughts on the way Kevin mixes his protein shakes—completely out of balance with the whey, which is stupid for a seasoned athlete to mess up—and then he made his way to Aaron, and Aaron petered off after Kevin told him to shut up.

Aaron later said just so you know, this isn’t serious and we’re just hooking up and stop sucking, I have a speech. Kevin laughed and said yes and all right and hummed around him, and by then, they weren’t drunk anymore—they just let it happen, a lot. Probably too many times. But Aaron thinks his problem began before the sex did, when the first thought that crossed his mind upon seeing him went from nuisance to Kevin!, exclamation point and all.

When Andrew leans forward to make his wish, Aaron instinctively does too. Andrew counts down from three, and then they each blow out their respective candles. Aaron, for lack of a better wish, throws out a request to the universe to help him sort out his life and make it as uncomplicated as possible.

—

It’s only late afternoon when they make it back to the dorm. Aaron lets them into the apartment and grimaces into the living room where he unfortunately finds Neil, studying. Neil caps his yellow highlighter and tucks it in the textbook he’s reading to send them a two-fingered salute.

“Neil,” Andrew says in greeting, without inflection, completely bypassing him and climbing the stairs to his room. Aaron would also go to his room to maybe crawl into bed, having just spent an extended period of time with Andrew—granted, most of it in silence, but it is always a little exhausting anyway—but it seems kind of far when the living room is right there. Besides, he doesn’t have time to rest. He should get to work. Seeing Neil study is a harsh reminder for Aaron that their outing was a break: he has a research essay due next week, a biology lab to make up by Friday, a pre-lab report to draft soon, and the other half of a unit to revise for an upcoming quiz. And that’s just everything he can remember off the top of his head.

Aaron drags his feet to a beanbag and flops down onto it, suddenly more fatigued now than he was when he entered, and in desperate need of a drink. Or he could keel over, maybe. That’d be a solution.

“Happy birthday,” Neil says, stilted somehow, like he just remembered it’s also Aaron’s birthday.

Aaron gives him a long, “Uuuuuughhhh,” as acknowledgment, which Neil responds to by standing up and padding out of the room.

Aaron almost falls asleep there, but someone startles him awake by kicking the bottom of the beanbag. He puts his fists up for a fight then deflates, the adrenaline rushing out of him when he sees it’s just Kevin.

“Jesus Christ,” Aaron says, resting a hand over his heart, still jackrabbiting despite the passing of the danger.

“Just me,” Kevin lilts. He sits on the couch, just within reach for Aaron to knock his foot against Kevin’s shin without much violence behind it—for now. Kevin shoves Aaron’s foot away so he can’t do it again. “Making sure you’re not wasting the day away here. You’re welcome.”

“Fucker,” Aaron says to that. Kevin’s mouth stretches into a goofy-looking smile. “Leave me alone.”

Aaron doesn’t want to see Kevin right now—he is a problem. He’s said maybe ten words to him in the span of two minutes and Aaron is already irritated. He is the third most annoying man he knows, right below Neil and just above Nicky. Nine out of ten days, Kevin will find a way to piss off Aaron, removing any goodwill he might have accumulated on the rare days Aaron genuinely likes him. Most of the Kevin-is-annoying days fall on practice days or on days Kevin remembers he doesn't need to be physically present to harass people because he can just text them a report of his most unsolicited opinions. (There is still an on-and-off argument in the Foxes’ group chat on the worst and best ways to make hot chocolate that is always brought up by Kevin, who prefers milk, and who won’t leave Aaron alone, who is of the opinion that water is easiest.) (The secret third option—water and milk, frothed to delight—is presented by Neil, and when he reminds everyone of that, Aaron does approve of Kevin's belligerent contributions.) Aaron’s biggest issue, really, is looking at Kevin, and having by now looked so freely, his stupid cheek tattoo doesn’t make him look ugly anymore or give him the urge to bite it off—and he has tried to bite it off, which has only served to amuse Kevin. Kevin was so tickled, Aaron thought he saw the brown swirls in his green eyes dance. He also thought cute and pretty and we have to break things off.

He has been thinking we have to break things off for almost two weeks now, with no real effort put towards it. Aaron does put a lot of energy into hoping it’ll just sort itself out—hence, the birthday wish.

“Can’t,” Kevin says, fishing out his phone and showing it to Aaron. On the screen is a notification: SAVE HIM! HE’S ROTTING AWAY SOMEWHERE UNSAVOURY, I’M SURE. Aaron thinks that’s really funny but he gives him a flat, unimpressed look. Kevin weathers it. “It’s my Bother Aaron time. I have a quota to fill. I thought you’d be in the library but you made finding you very easy.”

He realizes in hindsight that maybe ‘sort out my life’ and ‘un-complicate it’ are two wishes, and the universe is displeased by Aaron's audacity to make multiple demands of it. Kevin appearing and giving Aaron all his attention is his punishment. Aaron decides this is why birthday wishes aren’t worth shit.

“You are a virus,” Aaron tells him casually.

Kevin weathers that too and takes back his phone. He points at Aaron. “You sound stressed. You look stressed. You know what would de-stress you?”

“Don’t say Exy.”

Kevin’s mouth hangs open for a second. Then he slowly closes it and folds his lips together. The corners of his mouth dip and Aaron is horrified to find that Kevin is genuinely pouting right now. It’s cute. It’s fucking annoying. Aaron kicks out his legs to engage Kevin in really aggressive footsies, which apparently entertains Kevin. Stupid competitive jock.

When Aaron pulls his feet back to end the assault he started, Kevin tilts his head and gives him a pointed look. “Well. I have other ideas.”

Aaron flushes, which is embarrassing because it’s the least wild innuendo he’s been subjected to and yet his treacherous body reacts.

Behind Kevin, Neil has reappeared, making his presence known by smacking down a brick of a textbook on the coffee table. They stare at him and he says, “I heard the word Exy.”

Kevin raises his hand to point at Neil. “You wait your turn.”

“Fucking freak,” Aaron mutters, because it feels appropriate, and suddenly he is glad to not have responded to Kevin’s come on.

Neil makes a face that conveys extreme displeasure at Kevin; if he heard Aaron, he didn’t care. As Neil is sitting down, Kevin shoves him off-balance. Neil nearly trips in his haste to shove Kevin back, but Kevin flees, stepping around Aaron’s beanbag to use the couch as a barrier. Neil decides instead of giving chase, he’ll give him the finger. Aaron snorts, and for good measure, Neil presents his middle finger to Aaron too. Aaron flips him off right back.

Andrew saunters down the stairs, a pack of cigarettes visible in his hands. He says, “Neil,” in a quiet voice, and Neil readily abandons the standoff in the living room to follow Andrew to the foyer. There’s shuffling as they put on their shoes and jackets, then they leave to engage in what Aaron only assumes is nefarious business.

When the door clacks, Aaron tilts his head back to find Kevin staring at him, his hands on his hips. “And then there were two,” Kevin says, because he is a loser. Kevin has this look on his face, though, like he’s cooking up his own nefarious ideas and Aaron feels unsafe, his metaphorical hackles rising.

He’s right to have sensed danger because Kevin rounds the couch and moves toward him without much warning. Instinctively, Aaron backs up, his heel digging into the floor only allowing him a little slide along the beanbag. He kicks his foot out towards Kevin’s chest, and thankfully it’s enough to stop Kevin in his tracks.

“Nicky?” Aaron asks, raising an eyebrow. “Matt?”

“Out,” is all Kevin says. It really is just the two of them in the house, then. Aaron makes a distressed kind of noise to acknowledge that, which Kevin takes as permission to continue on his crusade. He grabs Aaron’s foot to move it out of the way and leans down over him. He stares with the kind of intensity Aaron associates with Kevin when he’s on the court—total focus, absolute determination, unfaltering confidence he’s going to win. Aaron pushes his palm against Kevin’s face so he doesn’t have to see it. Undeterred, Kevin licks his hand, and Aaron aggressively wipes it off Kevin’s cheek, the one with the tattoo.

“What are you, six years old?” Aaron whines, wiping until Kevin reaches for his hand and gently folds it into his palm, twisting it away from his face.

“You started it,” Kevin returns, equally offended.

“‘You started it,’” Aaron mocks. Kevin narrows his eyes at him, but Aaron doesn’t give him time to react to that. “You didn’t even wish me a happy birthday, dick.”

“Happy birthday, dick.” It is criminal, Aaron thinks, that he says that softly and pairs it with a gentle kiss to the inside of Aaron’s wrist. This is why he hates Kevin: Aaron can be grumpy at him for no good reason and he’ll just take it in stride or throw it right back.

Aaron wants to enact violence—is thrumming with it—and he totally would have if Kevin didn’t bend forward to push his lips against his. It’s a slow, lazy sort of kiss, the kind that makes Aaron’s heart surge and swell without his consent. A problem, one that reminds him he is outside the bounds of their agreement. But that’s impossible for Aaron to think about when Kevin whispers, “Bed?” against his mouth. Aaron exchanges the no at the tip of his tongue for a yes and decides, in the spirit of not making his birthdays shitty anymore, that he’d set aside the problem and contemplate it tomorrow.

—

It’s not Kevin moving that wakes Aaron up, but the result of his movement. Kevin shifts up in the bed, the mattress squeaking under him. Aaron opens his eyes when he feels Kevin’s hair tickle his chin and takes stock of their position: Kevin is lying mostly on top of him, a comfortable weight, the blanket twisted around Kevin’s knee and decidedly covering neither of them. Something like satisfaction washes through Aaron at the warm press of their bodies, Kevin in his arms, like being grounded. Aaron will miss this.

Aaron will miss this. It’s the thought that turns groundedness into an anchor in him; that makes his throat itchy with no way to relieve it.

Aaron carefully extracts himself from the bed and thankfully doesn’t rouse Kevin. He picks up a sweater and puts it on over his t-shirt, the cold of the basement seeping into his skin now that there’s no heat pressed to him, and locates his phone. It’s just past midnight now—they napped for hours.

He treads lightly to the bedroom door and opens it, and curses at it for creaking so loudly. He isn’t sure moving slowly does anything to decrease its volume, but he’s careful anyway until he hears it click shut behind him.

Aaron takes the stairs up very slowly to the ground floor of the house, crouching at the top of the staircase. Feeling a little insane, he puts his hands by his ears and silently screams. When he loses steam, he hangs his head and exhales deeply.

Aaron feels unsteady, knocked out of orbit by the force of his own feelings for Kevin. Aaron worries he has everything written on his body in a shaky, infatuated font, and that Kevin has put his lips to every skin deep confession and chosen to ignore them. Part of Aaron thinks Kevin wouldn’t do that. He’s an open book, easy to read for the simple fact that he’s never learned to properly slip his mask on before letting everyone glimpse his real emotions. It’s why no one who has to spend time with him likes him. It’s why Aaron thinks he does; thinks, maybe, that Kevin too—total focus, unwavering certainty—can’t hide the fact that he might have—

But Kevin hasn’t said anything. And if Aaron is wrong—well. He doesn’t want to be wrong.

It doesn’t matter anyway. Deals aren’t only important to Andrew, they’re important to Aaron too, and this is theirs: no strings attached, and they put an end to their physical relationship if the strings get taut on either side. And now that their arrangement has Aaron’s messy knotwork on it—the threads humming with the fear of change, or ruining everything between them as it is now—he knows this regrettable thing between them has to end, and he has to be the one to end it.

Aaron is spiralling, he knows. He has enough wherewithal to remember it’s past midnight and think fuck the universe and its selective wish-granting, and that he should get the Gatorade he came up for then head back to his own bed downstairs. He will deal with the rest tomorrow, if he doesn’t push it off to the tomorrow after that.

It’s only now that Aaron notices the small oven light coming from the kitchen. He nearly falls over when he realizes Andrew and Neil are there. They’re sitting at opposite ends of the dining table sporting similar expressions of what is wrong with you? over their pints of ice cream. Have they been watching him the whole time he’s been here?

With his spoon, Andrew points at Aaron, narrowing his eyes with suspicion. “You’re being weird.”

Through a mouthful of ice cream, Neil suggests, “He’s always weird.”

Aaron until then felt frozen, flushed with embarrassment, like he’d been caught saying out loud I like Kevin Day by the two people he would hate to process that thought with. But Neil’s comment seems to reboot him, at least enough to give Neil the finger. Neil pretends to catch it like it's a flying kiss and pockets it.

“Weirder than usual,” Andrew says slowly, his eyes scanning Aaron’s hunched form, likely for some kind of injury. Aaron makes a vague gesture and hopes that communicates that he’s fine and that he really doesn’t want to explain himself.

Neither of them pry when he finally makes himself stand and grab the Gatorade out of the fridge as casually as possible. On his way out of the kitchen, for good measure, he throws Neil a weak, “Fuck you,” and gets booed when he hits the stairs.

—

In the morning, Aaron catches a glimpse of himself in the mirror and stares. He looks incredibly tired, as much as he feels it, having spent the rest of the night tossing and turning. The bags under his eyes are more pronounced, his skin a mix of yellows and blues and reds, and he knows Katelyn will tell him he looks like a zombie. More than usual. Aaron is more afraid of what she’ll say if she looks him in the eyes and finds I like Kevin written across his irises. It’s a stupid thing to worry about, but he grabs a pair of sunglasses on his way out anyway.

Since he has time to kill before his first class, Aaron heads to the cafe nearby. He’s debating whether he should splurge and get a pumpkin cinnamon roll for breakfast, and decides that he will since no one is around to stop him. This is what being an adult with adult money making adult decisions is all about, Aaron tells himself.

He hears the clicking of high heels approach but does not prepare to have Allison materialize beside him.

“Aaron,” she says in greeting, blowing a bubble with her gum.

“Allison.”

She throws a glance behind him and Aaron does the same. The line has grown quite long, with maybe six new people. Aaron is two persons to the cash, so he knows that Allison will ask—

“Did you steal this from Kevin?” She flicks the string of the hoodie and does not apologize when it nearly hits him in the face. Aaron looks down to see the number 2 staring back at him and feels, for the second time that day, frozen and caught out. He hadn’t noticed it was one of Kevin’s hoodies he’d blindly dressed with, abandoned in his room after a night together.

Allison gently pushes Aaron by the shoulder and sees the incriminating DAY over the number 2 on the back of the sweater and Aaron swats her hand away. “We do laundry together,” he says defensively, realizing too late that that is not a good defence. But Allison slides right by it with a look in her eyes that says she has taken note of his comment.

“Anyway,” she says dismissively, “check your phone.” Aaron does and sees he’s received a message from an unsaved number, the last four of which he knows are Allison’s. It reads: Caramel frappe no whipped cream, oreo frappe with whipped cream, strawberry hibiscus orange lemonade. Stat! “Add these to your order.”

Finally faced with the request he expected her to make, he says, “No.”

Aaron is about to delete the text when she pushes on his hand to stop him. “Don’t be a bitch. I’ll pay.”

So he adds her drinks to his order. As promised, she pays, then tasks him with bringing them over to where she’s sitting with Dan and Renee. He does, and the girls greet him as he hands out their drinks. Aaron then sits at the table next to them and ignores the look Dan gives him, like she’s considering dragging his chair over to them—he knows she can bodily pull him over, but she doesn’t, and Aaron is thankful for that.

The girls start talking and Aaron immediately tunes them out in favour of savouring his iced coffee and cinnamon roll.

He’s scrolling aimlessly through Reddit when Dan swings her backpack up, accidentally knocking his raised foot. He nods at her when she apologizes, half distracted by her taking out her cell phone from her bag. He’s completely prepared to ignore them again for the few minutes he has left to loiter, but he can’t help eavesdropping this time, his attention drawn to the girls.

He hears Dan say, “Ridi texted me last night.” She pauses to pull up her text messages. “She asked me what she should say to him. Again.”

“She should say, ‘I don’t like shitting where I eat,’” Allison supplies, mercilessly.

“I think maybe not that,” says Renee.

Allison slides Renee a cool look before she amends: “She should say, ‘It was fun. But let’s not.’” Dan makes an unconvinced noise when Renee doesn’t interject again. Allison adds, “Shit will go to shit no matter what she says, so she needs to get it together and end it. She is making this worse for herself.”

Aaron decides that’s true enough and nods approvingly. His nodding slows when he realizes that’s true for him too, with Kevin. Whatever he says to end this thing between them will change the nature of their relationship. Aaron already knows this, and that’s why he’s been avoiding it for the better part of a month. He can’t anymore, though. He shouldn’t.

Taking the last sip of his coffee as aggressively as he can, Aaron is more determined than ever. He will take things into his own hands—grab the bull by the horns, or whatever, and stop shitting where he’s eating. He’ll end it with Kevin this week.

—

Aaron thought he hated Kevin Day a normal amount yesterday, but today he thinks he hates him ten times more. He did not think it possible for Kevin to become a more annoying version of himself or for him to be more annoying than Neil Josten—who is, by virtue of his existence, the worst person ever. But Kevin might really be gunning for his position.

Yesterday, Kevin discovered Exy training videos and sent them to Aaron. Watch them, he said. Aaron responded, No, then, I’m busy studying. This is outside of your bother Aaron time. Harass someone else.

Kevin said I will, but interprets Aaron’s suggestion to mean harass other teammates in conjunction with Aaron. But Aaron thinks he gets the worst of it, with Kevin sending him links wherever convenient: through text if it was on Youtube; through Twitter DMs if it was embedded in a tweet; through Instagram if he’d seen a reel. Kevin started cycling through the platforms to describe the videos and Aaron decided it would be better to watch them than suffer this.

He’d conceded on a whim and with no real intention of following through on his commitment, but either Kevin knew this and didn’t care or he carried more optimism than Aaron thought him capable. Heads up, Kevin texted him, there will be a quiz.

The quiz comes in the form of Exy practice that night. When warmups are done, Kevin switches his racquet to his left hand and watches the team. After a long moment, he points at Matt with his racquet and declares, “We need stronger defence.” Andrew lifts his padded middle finger up towards Kevin. He ignores it and instead looks at Dan, who looks back at him with a mix of distrust and apprehension. Kevin isn’t asking for permission, not really, but rather warning her that he’s about to become very unpleasant. And true to form: Kevin ran them into the ground to get them to run fast and harder, until he had enough of watching minor improvement stagnate.

In the locker room, everyone but Andrew is silently seething in Kevin’s direction, but Kevin seems immune to it. He’s packing away his duffel bag when he whispers to Aaron, “We should hang out tonight.”

The absolute nerve of this fucking guy.

Aaron closes his locker door and takes a deep breath; it’s all he can do not to shove Kevin into his own locker.

“Does it turn you on to drill us until we’re half dead?”

Kevin squints at him and lets his eyes wander above him, where he sees Matt sitting on a bench with his head in his hands, trying to catch his breath. Satisfaction passes over his face, and when he flicks his eyes back to Aaron, who’s fighting to keep his breath steady, his gaze is hot. He says, “A little.”

Aaron is going to kill him. He can put aside his feelings to recognize the fact that, fundamentally, he hates Kevin, and one-sided hatred makes a terrible foundation for a relationship. He thinks maybe this is the extra push he needs to finally cross that bridge and break things off with him right now.

He does shove Kevin a little bit, too aware of the warmth of his skin against his palm. Stupid, shirtless jock. “I don’t want to hang out with you. You piss me off.”

“Not more than usual, surely” Kevin argues. He quickly shoves his t-shirt over his head when Aaron shoulders his duffel bag and turns away from him to leave the room. Aaron crosses the doors into the hallway and Kevin follows him, easily matching his strides. Halfway to the building doors, Kevin tugs on Aaron’s sleeve and pulls him off to the side, towards the vending machines lining the wall. Aaron goes; he’s too tired to fist-fight Kevin.

“Don’t be mad at me,” Kevin says, almost whining. “We needed to up the ante. Wymack agrees. Neil agrees—”

Aaron supposes it speaks to the team’s desire to improve if they’ve put up and are still putting up with Kevin on the court. But nothing stokes his irritation more than mentioning Neil fucking Josten concurs. “—Oh, stellar fucking argument. Neil Josten agrees—”

“—and it’ll be easier next time. It better be.” He says that more like it’s an expectation for the team rather than the drill. “Hang out with me.” Kevin gently pushes Aaron against a wall, corners him between a vending machine and his hard body and says, “Let me make it up to you.”

He’s looking at Aaron intently, a stupid smug look on his face. If Aaron didn’t know Kevin better, he’d miss the way he forces his eyes wide, barely blinking, to keep from straying lower than they should in public. And it momentarily makes him angrier than he already is that he notices that. But he doesn’t hold on to it.

“I can’t,” he says, deflating, and it’s true. Now that he’s sapped of energy for the night, he has to re-evaluate what schoolwork he can get through before passing out. “I have shit to do.” Aaron swipes Kevin’s hand off his chest since he doesn’t need to be prevented from leaving. Kevin catches Aaron’s wrist and folds their hands together. “Just study with me if you wanna hang that badly.”

“Okay,” Kevin accepts softly. “I’ll make you a protein shake and tuck you in while I put on She’s the Man in the background for you. After we study.”

“No!” Aaron exclaims. “I hate your protein shakes.”

"I'm making you a protein shake." Kevin steps away from him and back towards the main hallway, amused. “Andrew will leave without us.”

Aaron whines, "I don't want it."

"You need it."

"‘You need it,’" Aaron mimics unkindly, which Kevin ignores. "Don't put too much whey powder in it."

"My shake, my rules."

Before they leave, Kevin pushes him against another wall and kisses him. “That’s for being cute with me.” Aaron, reinvigorated with hatred for Kevin, tries to step on Kevin’s heels on the way to Andrew’s car, cursing him when he takes bigger and longer strides than Aaron can keep up with.

—

Aaron accepts the shake Kevin gives him and is pleased he can’t taste the whey. He bites his straw and grins his thanks at Kevin, who just rolls his eyes and shakes his head, a small smile on his face.

They’re in Aaron’s room, and true to their plan, they are studying. Kevin hadn’t even tried to get a kiss in before he got settled at Aaron’s desk, as diligent with his studies as he is with Exy. But Aaron figures, if the way Kevin wheels the desk chair towards the bed where Aaron has made camp is any indication, then he’s achieved his studying goals in the two hours they’ve been here.

Kevin drops his hand over Aaron’s notes with a dramatic thud. When Aaron ignores it, picking up the notes he’d left to the wayside, Kevin flexes his fingers and wiggles his hand. Aaron gives him an unimpressed look at his bid for attention, but finally allows for this distraction, because he is weak, probably.

Aaron takes his hand in both of his and ignores the pleased look Kevin directs at him. He’s like a puppy, Aaron thinks, massaging his thumbs across the rough skin of Kevin’s hand, tracing the scars running along the places where it once shattered.

Kevin says, “Kiss it better.”

“It’s all healed.” But Aaron kisses Kevin’s hand anyway. Kevin takes it as an opportunity to cradle Aaron’s face and pull him into a kiss. “Loser,” Aaron mumbles, “you just wanted to kiss me.”

“So what if I did?” Kevin’s smile is a little crooked with the arrogance that seeps into it. Aaron watches it and flushes and feels—something. His heart growing to twice its size in his chest; the swelling of his feelings, a geyser on the edge of bursting; a stirring that’s shaped like hope. Like maybe Kevin has—

Kevin flips their hands over to kiss the back of Aaron’s hand, but doesn’t say anything that Aaron can interpret as—something—to go off of, maybe. Kevin doesn’t say anything at all. It’s Aaron who mutters, “I’m not done studying,” against the chaste touch of Kevin’s lips when he pulls him closer, but Kevin doesn’t care and Aaron forgets to.

Aaron wraps his arms around Kevin’s neck and lets Kevin push him into the pillows as he climbs into the bed to kiss him fully, hungry. Aaron has a part of his mind on this, another on the papers Kevin is digging his knees into, uncaring. It irritates Aaron, how aware he is of Kevin’s body, how stupid he is for crushing his notes, how much he likes him, how much he wants him to like him, or tell him that he doesn’t so that he can—something—feels his chest cave in and thinks this for now as Kevin’s hands crawl under his shirt and I have to end this as slides his hands under Kevin’s t-shirt sleeves and tomorrow, tomorrow, tomorrow.

Kevin leans away to take off his shirt. When he leans back down, Aaron grabs Kevin’s face and shifts it so he can scrape his teeth against Kevin’s cheek, the one with the tattoo. When it occurs to Kevin that Aaron is trying to literally bite his face off again, he presses his face into Aaron’s shoulder and laughs.

“This isn’t funny,” Aaron warns, squeezing Kevin between his thighs to punctuate his point.

Kevin lifts his gaze and presses their lips together hard, and Aaron squints at him for that. Grinning, Kevin says, “What was that for?”

“For being annoying. For annoying your way into my pants,” Aaron tells him. Kevin snorts, closes his eyes for a moment as he lets Aaron push his bangs back with more aggression than is necessary. He stays there, waiting for a kiss. Aaron hates him, except he doesn’t at all, and tightens his hands in his hair instead and does not kiss him, out of spite. Aaron adds, “High risk, low reward.”

Without missing a beat, “There are many rewards.”

“Like what?” Aaron asks, “Building tolerance for the next fuck buddy?”

Aaron sees the impact his words make the moment they land. Kevin’s face shutters for a fraction of a second, before he clears his expression for a new one—surprise, like he just remembered something, then that one is gone too and he’s looking at Aaron with the same sort of flat detachment he wears in front of strangers.

“Yeah,” Kevin breathes, but it’s too much of a delayed reaction to pick up the thread of the bickering. Kevin pulls away and draws himself up, Aaron’s hands sliding out of Kevin’s hair without resistance. Aaron fists his hand to catch—something, so he doesn’t go out of reach—but catches air instead. He wants to say no and wait or maybe something sarcastic to make the look on Kevin’s face go away.

He says, “What the fuck?” and covers the offended spot when Kevin moves to flick his forehead, hard.

“No reward,” Kevin says, collecting his shirt and climbing off of the bed. “Since you need to keep studying.”

Aaron sits up and follows Kevin’s jerky movements as he gathers his stuff, his shirt swinging from where he’s scrunched it up in his hand.This is—he feels—something—but not the something he wants. Irritation right now, rising through him like mercury in glass. “You’re leaving?” he manages to ask.

“Yes,” Kevin answers, without looking at him, “I’m done.”

It pisses him off that Kevin is reacting this way without saying something—anything. Aaron doesn’t even know what he wants to hear, he just—“You’re seriously going to leave me like this?”

Kevin darts his gaze down and exhales sharply through his nose. It’s not what Aaron means, but he can’t work his throat to say anything else.

“Yup,” Kevin says, and Aaron watches Kevin leave his room.

—

There's a door at the end of the hallway upstairs. It's not a bedroom or a closet and it's locked at all times. The landlord warns each new renter that it's to stay that way for the duration of their tenancy. Andrew waited a week after move-in before he tested the door. Do Not Open This Door, a sign read, so naturally, Andrew did—after waiting a respectable time for mysterious door authorities to dissuade him, of course, but they never came.

It turns out it’s just the door that opens to a very narrow staircase, up to the roof. Andrew doesn’t call it his secret place, but if he disappears for hours on end, that’s usually where you’ll find him. Andrew, for the most part, always makes sure you know where to find him. So really, it’s his not-so-secret-place.

Andrew first wandered up there to test a hypothesis. He once said his experiment was inconclusive, and that he didn’t get the results he was looking for but found a pest followed him up there instead—hazards of science he’d said, to find the unexpected, making a show of rolling his eyes when Neil just beamed at him, taking the insult in stride.

The times they did are few, but Aaron and Kevin would sneak up to the not-so-secret place. Aaron had no interest in enduring Andrew’s bad mood if he ever found out they were up there, even though the roof didn’t belong to him. But Kevin wanted to see the sun set from up there, so Aaron went with him. Aaron can confidently say the first sunset had been hues of burnt orange painted across the sky and pale, pale yellow concentrated in its center. The ones after that are harder to remember when Aaron’s back was to the horizon, and Kevin’s mouth was burning hotter than the sun against his.

Sometimes they sat shoulder to shoulder, pressed together as closely as they could while Kevin named the stars his mom had taught him, or while Aaron read their horoscope (but skipped the compatibilities) and they tried to make sense of their destinies, or while they bickered about the weird objects they should hide up here for Andrew to find and interrogate Neil about. It was easy to shoot the shit with Kevin, even before they decided to get involved; during, too. Aaron misses it like he knew he would—not just the physicality, but the easy way they spilled into each other’s spaces too. Or, they used to.

Outside of Exy practice, it’s painfully obvious that Kevin is avoiding spending any time alone with Aaron. He doesn’t find Aaron before practice or chase after him afterwards, and any attempt Aaron makes to talk to him is met with Kevin drawing the nearest person into the conversation. Oftentimes it’s Neil, which means he talks Exy strategies with Kevin while Aaron stands there, frustrated out of his mind, or they don’t talk at all. He feels a stress-induced headache coming on.

It’s stupid, because he’s literally somewhere, he’s just not around Aaron anymore—but now Aaron feels Kevin’s absence like a loss.

The front door shudders as someone jams their keys too hard into the knob, and Aaron knows it’s not Kevin that just walked in.

“I’m home!” Matt bellows, toeing off his shoes.

Nicky says, “Hi, Matt!” from his room, and Aaron asks him, “Have you seen Kevin?”

“Whoa,” Matt breathes as he crosses into the living room. He’s barely stepped a foot in before Aaron hits him with the question. Matt swings his backpack off his shoulder and lets it fall to the floor. He rocks back into their old rickety rocking chair and winces when he scrapes back loudly against the floor. “No?” He says it like it’s a question, and Aaron visibly bristles at the answer to his own. Matt takes a loud sip of the chocolate soy milk box in his hand and adds, “Well, not since he threw this juice box at me this morning. He’s not back yet?”

“Would I have asked you if he was?” Aaron snaps.

Matt says, “Ooooookayyyy,” like he’s been dealing with Aaron’s irritability for days and he’s over it.

He doesn’t say anything else, which is great. Matt becomes absorbed by the last Fantastic Four movie recap video Aaron has casted on the TV, and Aaron watches the images go by without seeing, half of his mind is on the foyer, listening for any signs of that fucker Kevin Day returning—not even Chris Evans as Johnny Storm can hold his full attention right now.

“Guys,” Nicky calls when he opens his bedroom door. He struts into the living room and twirls in front of the TV, the orange leather pants he’s wearing squawking as he does. He stops, flares out his arms and bows. Matt whistles his appreciation and Aaron dips his head to massage his temples, his headache suddenly worse with the noise, aggravated further by the anger rising in his body. Nicky curtsies and beams at Matt. “Thrifted these last weekend. Do we like?”

“Love the shirt.” Matt takes the last sips of his drink obnoxiously loudly. “Can I try it on?”

Aaron expected, in the time they’ve known each other, Kevin would have grown a spine and talked to him about whatever the fuck problem he has with Aaron—he usually doesn’t have any trouble running his mouth when no one wants him to.

“Matt, I love you so much, but we are not the same size and I will not have you stretching out this shirt.” Matt dips his head and raises his milk box, acquiescing. Nicky smoothes his hands down his shirt then pinches the sequined hem where it’s cropped, just over his belly. “Will the hot boys of Eden’s be into it? Try to get under it? “What do you think?”

Aaron thinks Nicky should know better than to ask him. Aaron thinks about the five days Kevin spent successfully evading him and the house without returning any of Aaron’s texts or calls—he thinks he’s getting more pissed now as he remembers that. Aaron thinks, “Congratulations, you sound and now look like a flame—” and only stops when Matt sits up and shoots him a sharp look and a peeved, “Dude.”

Oh, he said that out loud. Aaron glances briefly at Matt then at Nicky, who’s frowning at him, disappointment drawing his brows together. Aaron didn’t become a nice person suddenly, when this thing with Kevin began. However, he has since then learned a little bit of shame and can acknowledge that Nicky doesn’t deserve his ire this time. Aaron says flatly, “Sorry.”

Seemingly satisfied with that, Nicky smiles at him, overly cheerful. Then he walks around the table to stand next to Aaron, where he starts kicking his legs. “What the hell, Nicky,” he demands, but gets no answers. There’s no force behind his kicks at all, but Aaron still feels bullied into standing up.

When he’s up, Nicky reorients Aaron so he’s facing the stairs and away from Nicky, who claps his hands down on Aaron’s shoulder. With only a bit of resistance, Nicky guides him up the stairs and to Andrew’s room. “Knock,” he instructs, and Aaron does.

It takes two seconds for Andrew to cross his room and open the door, raising a suspicious eyebrow when he sees his siblings standing there, one more willing than the other. Andrew’s face flattens again when he tilts his head and scans his eyes over Nicky’s attire, fixed on his pants.

“Do not comment on the outfit,” Nicky says at the same time Andrew says, “Cantaloupe, really?”

Nicky makes a distressed noise then shrieks quietly when Aaron adds, “And Shrek-green.”

“I said no comment! Focus on him.” Nicky thrusts Aaron forward so he’s forced to take a half-step. “He’s been yucking my yum all week. He’s been yucking everybody’s yum. Talk to him.”

Andrew looks at Aaron and doesn’t close the door, but he does walk away from it to return to his perch by the window. He picks up the cigarette he’d been smoking and makes a shoo motion with his other hand. Aaron turns around to see Nicky roll his eyes and whine, but Nicky leaves and Aaron closes the door behind him before facing his brother again.

It’s a brisk November day and Andrew has the window open to smoke out of it. He’s wearing nothing but a tank top and compression armbands. “How are you not cold?” Aaron asks, and Andrew points to his armbands as an explanation. It’s one of his newer ones with the white square logo, and he had said once that they’re surprisingly good at regulating heat.

Accepting that, Aaron says nothing else and they lapse into silence. Aaron is hit with a wave of unwelcomed gratitude for his brother. He doesn’t pry, just sits there with a cigarette in one hand and his phone in the other—his carefully cultivated way of offering his presence in case Aaron wants to talk to him while he pretends to be detached; and if Aaron doesn’t, then they hang out for a bit, and it’s no loss to either of them.

He’s only a little annoyed at being assigned an emotional babysitter—his emotionally unavailable brother, no less—but Nicky has the right idea since Andrew is best equipped to put up with Aaron’s moods, if only because Andrew is completely immune to them. Andrew’s presence is enough to mute his anger to something simmering on low.

Although Nicky dropped him off with the intention for him to talk about his problems, part of Aaron would rather die than explain to Andrew that he’s been hooking up with Kevin. The other part of him, the one leading on his quiet rampage, feels this pressure building, and sealing his lips won’t be enough to keep him from bursting.

Andrew doesn’t invite him to say anything, though. Aaron stares at Andrew’s desk chair, doubling as a shelf for the mountain of laundry he hasn’t put away in a while, and says, “Kevin is avoiding me.”

Andrew exhales out the window. “We should all strive to be as lucky as you.”

That is, predictably, an unhelpful thing for Andrew to say.

Aaron was going to tell him so but it occurs to him that he hasn’t heard Nicky’s heavy footfalls down the hall. He opens the bedroom door and encounters a weight behind it—Nicky, who looks at him, apologetic only about being caught. “Okay, okay,” he says, arms up in surrender before Aaron can berate him for being nosey. “I’m going.” Aaron watches him go down the stairs until he can’t see his head anymore, then shuts the door again.

Aaron moves to sit on Andrew’s bed, the mattress softly squeaking under his weight. He might as well rip the bandaid off. “It’s because I’m sleeping with him.”

Aaron doesn’t need to look at him to know that Andrew is reacting to this news in a way Aaron doesn’t appreciate. He confirms it when he glances at this brother, who’s got his eyes closed and is holding himself very tight. “God, I hate you—stop laughing.”

Andrew turns his head away and allows himself to release a loud breath. “Stop laughing,” Aaron says again, and after another snort, Andrew schools his expression and levels Aaron with an indifferent look.

“Ooh,” Andrew coos, monotone, “the girls are fighting. And now you’re cranky.”

Part of the problem, Aaron thinks, is that they’re not fighting. Even though Aaron has nothing but a few variations of fuck you, Kevin ready for when he sees him again, he doesn’t know where to start whatever conversation needs to be had. It’d be easier if Kevin came, guns blazing, ready to detail his grievances against Aaron. But that’s the thing about knowing how to read Kevin in intimate spaces: Aaron already picked up on the too-honest signs that flickered across his face, before the mask slipped back on. Aaron went from being seventy-five percent sure to one hundred, even if he didn’t hear it.

“He likes me,” he says, more to the room than to Andrew. He slumps sideways on He hasn’t had time to really process that, too preoccupied with the numbers crashing down into liminal space, where Aaron’s insecurities rule and probabilities don’t matter. He tests it now, weighs the truth of it on his tongue since it’s been said out loud, and finds that something he’s been chasing, wrapped between acceptance and discomfort. Aaron massages his chest in slow circles and says, “Ew.” Because ew? Ewwwwww. Kevin Day likes him and now they’re both out of bounds and it’s like his heart is opening up in his chest and it’s filled with something bright and also it feels like he’s just been doused in cold water because he can’t really decide how he feels about this and—

“Well.” Andrew brings his cigarette up and stops it short of his mouth, shrugs one shoulder when he says, “can’t account for taste.”

“Fuck you. Literally could say the same about you.” Aaron doesn’t care if it’s more of a self-burn than it is an actual insult.

“I’m not in denial about that.”

Aaron stares at Andrew, surprised by that admission. Now he feels like laughing at him, so he breaks out his best shit-eating grin, just for his brother. Andrew rolls his eyes and gives Aaron the finger.

Aaron says plainly, “I’m not in denial.” It’s not his own feelings he was ever worried about, he realizes—it’s always been the threat of Kevin’s that scares the shit out of him. Kevin, who has never known how to follow posted speed limits and runs reds because he can, because no one has ever told him he shouldn’t, probably likes him. Probably definitely. He’s afraid that one day he’ll realize he doesn’t.

Maybe that’s the heart of the issue. There’s precedence for this. Aaron has spent a long time being jerked around by people who love him for a period. It hurts, still, that his mother doesn’t know how to want him; that Andrew’s apathy is hard to interpret as caring sometimes; that Katelyn decided it wasn’t working after all. But that’s not very accurate data. Not that it matters. Kevin and him were never supposed to be together—that was their agreement.

Aaron falls back onto the pillows and groans, “He’s not supposed to like me back.”

He can practically hear Andrew roll his eyes. “Boo fucking hoo,” he says, sparing no sympathy for Aaron. “So you like each other. Learn to deal with it like normal people.”

“Like you?” Aaron mocks. “Whose first instinct was probably to throw Neil off the nearest tower?”

Andrew gives him the most impassive look he can muster. Petulantly, he replies, “That’s not the same. I don’t have the hangups you do.”

"What hangups did you have?"

"’This pretty guy is gonna ruin my life in ways I can't predict. I must destroy him.’"

Aaron is silent at that for a moment. “That sounds exactly like the same hangup—”

“—I promise you, it is not.”

Aaron ignores Andrew. “Well, I dealt with it,” Aaron says. And he did. Aaron reconciles with his current position by telling himself that this is what he had intended—for their fling to end—he just expedited the process with an indelicate approach. Now, he won’t have to deal with this ending later, when it inevitably happens. “And now we’re not even friends anymore, so.” He suspects he won’t have to deal with Kevin much at all if he decides to disappear from his life the way he’s doing, until he’s gone for good.

“Again, to be so lucky.”

Aaron ignores that too. Aaron accepts that there is nothing left to do except let the shitty universe run its shitty course. If anything, his circular conversation with his brother has helped him come to terms with that.

Aaron stands to get up and leave the room. When he opens the door, his eyes are drawn down. Nicky is crouching against the wall in his Shrek-coloured shirt and noisy pants. Both twins sigh, world-weary. They should have known getting rid of Nicky is never a simple affair.

Nicky’s face twists with apology again and he says, “Listen, I’m just worried about you.” He stands and dusts his knees off and Aaron is vibrating with negative feelings towards him. Nicky doesn’t seem to register that because he gently pushes Aaron back inside and closes the door behind him. He looks between the twins expectantly, and when neither of them speaks, he says, “I did notice Kevin was being cagey but I had no idea it was because you and him…” He trails off, gesturing vaguely at Aaron.

“God—did you hear all of that?” Aaron demands, flushing with annoyance and embarrassment. He barely wanted to talk about this with Andrew—he cannot talk about this with Nicky.

“Not all of it,” Nicky says, crossing an arm over his middle and propping his chin in his other hand. “Like, I don’t understand why he’s avoiding you if he likes you.” Aaron stares at him, but Nicky is looking thoughtfully toward the bedroom wall, contemplating this issue by himself. “Because you obviously like him.”

“Don’t say that out loud,” Aaron says, dismayed to hear someone else say it.

“And he knows that you like him back?” Nicky asks, bulldozing over Aaron. He looks at him straight on now. “You’ve told him that, right?”

Aaron stands very still and only lets his eyes wander away, feeling something close to guilt and stupidity as he sifts his memory—but he doesn’t even have to because he knows the first time he’s admitted it to anyone else was five or so paragraphs ago. “No…”

Nicky closes his eyes and pinches the bridge of his nose. “Aaron—”

“History books will no longer say I’m the emotionally stunted twin,” says Andrew sardonically.

“Has it ever crossed your mind to tell him that?” Nicky asks. There’s fond exasperation in his voice, but it’s gone up an octave with incredulity.

“Well, I mean—” Aaron starts then stops, because of course it has, fleetingly, but he’s never fleshed out that conversation in his mind because either outcome made him feel too much. “He’s the yapper. I thought he’d have brought it up by now if he wanted—” He stops again; thinks to say—something, but isn’t sure if Nicky will get it, or just ask him to explain himself and Aaron has never been able to make sense of the ambiguously shaped feelings taking residence in his body.

“Oh, my god.” Nicky turns a small circle in front of Aaron and faces him again with his hands out. “Oh, my god, Aaron—is this the influence of the heterosexual part of your brain?” Nicky jerks his arms to one side as he says, “Who cares which one of you confesses! You can only control how you do it and how you react to it. You need to tell him.” Nicky points at him. “You don’t need to do anything ever, actually, okay? And I support you. But you should tell him.” Nicky slaps Aaron’s shoulder, his face opening up like he’s just had an epiphany. “Treat it like a confrontation. You’re good at those.” Aaron doesn’t know where Nicky gets that idea. Aaron is historically bad at speaking up for himself. He wouldn’t be in this situation otherwise. “Say, ‘Listen babe’” —the twins both give him withering looks, because no one is calling Kevin babe, but Nicky is undeterred— “‘we need to set things straight. But in a gay way.’”

“Stop talking,” Aaron says, horrified by Nicky’s words and distressed about how much he sounds like he’s begging. Aaron doesn’t care about that at all, he’s just afraid of eventual rejection. It’s pathetic but true. “What if I fuck it up?” The question bubbles out of the depths of his fears without his permission, but now that he’s said it out loud, he feels it ring true. He thinks about the possibility of being wrong about Kevin, of their deal being more important than whatever could be between them, of finding the something he’s chasing and being disappointed.

“It can’t get worse than this,” Andrew says, drawing their attention to him. He gesticulates between the three of them, making circles with his palm up. “This is your rock bottom.”

Aaron snorts involuntarily. “It can’t get worse than asking you guys for advice,” he agrees. Laid out like that, it is funny. And the reminder does rouse something in Aaron. He feels a little annoyed with himself that he’s afraid of Kevin, but mostly he feels motivated to give him a piece of his mind—and if shit goes to shit like Allison once said, then things will be as they are now, and at least he can continue to lick his wounds with the support of his stoic brother and too-curious cousin.

Nicky claps him on the shoulder. “I’m going to skip being offended by asking: What’s your plan of action here?”

Aaron doesn't know. Maybe he’ll start with those different fuck you, Kevin Days after all. Maybe he’ll even try the French ones he hears Kevin regularly exchange with Neil. “Destroy him, probably.”

“YES!” Nicky cheers, lifting his arms in victory while Andrew rolls his eyes and says, “Get the fuck out of my room.”

Aaron is extremely thankful for the dismissal. Talking at Andrew and to Nicky did end up being helpful in its own way, so he does feel better now than when he came in. But that doesn’t mean Aaron feels particularly like a good person suddenly, especially not when he thinks this conversation is a result of Andrew throwing him under the bus somehow. It’s his brotherly duty to return the favour. “Nicky,” he says, “don’t you have questions for Andrew about Neil?”

Nicky pivots toward Andrew and gasps, “You know, about that—”

Andrew’s wallet comes sailing past Aaron’s head. Both Aaron and Nicky retreat into the hallway, giving Andrew the peace he wants.

—

Aaron is relieved he makes it down the stairs without tripping and falling. He’s exhausted, having spent the morning reviewing test material with Katelyn, and then crossing campus with her to meet up with a study group. It basically took up his whole day, and now he’s ready to bury himself in his comforter and hibernate for as long as his studying schedule allows—so about thirty minutes.

He throws his keys on his desk, shirks off his backpack and takes out his laptop to keep going on his own, but pauses with his laptop halfway out of his bag. The shower is running. On this floor.

Kevin is here.

Aaron gently puts his laptop down and takes a breather. He feels the heat of anger jolt through him and decides to lean into it, hoping he can stomp out the sudden anxiousness threatening to take over his body. Deciding not to overthink it, he trudges to the bathroom and slams the door open. Kevin shrieks, then pulls the curtain back to peek his head out. At first, he looks bewildered and angry at being disrupted, and then he freezes, caught out.

“We need to talk,” Aaron says, and Kevin sucks air between his teeth, then rolls his eyes and releases the curtain.

He pulls it back again when Aaron doesn’t immediately leave. He looks at him and takes in the dead serious look Aaron levels him with, and probably knows that Aaron will do everything in his power to corner him again if he doesn’t comply willingly. He snaps, “Can I finish my shower first?”

Aaron stares at his face. It feels like it’s been years not days since he last saw him. He nods stiffly but doesn’t turn away yet. After a beat, he steps in to take Kevin’s change of clothes, which earns him an exasperated “Aaron, don’t—” that get’s muffled when Aaron slams the door shut.

Back in his room, he dumps Kevin’s clothes on his bed and sits next to the pile. Kevin will have to pass by his room to get to his own and change, then back again if he wants to escape—Aaron will be sure to catch him.

Kevin hurries past Aaron’s room when he’s done. It takes longer than usual for him to get dressed—probably in there giving himself a pep talk—before he appears before Aaron. He takes up less space in the doorframe than he usually does, shoulders slumped and a pronounced frown on his face. His hair is still damp from the shower and it drips in staccato onto his varsity t-shirt. Aaron thinks he looks like a wet dog. He refuses to think it’s cute.

He squints at Kevin. “Where the fuck have you been?”

“Wymack’s,” Kevin reluctantly provides, fidgeting with the sleeve of his shirt before he pulls it up to get himself to stop. “Until he kicked me out. Then Jean’s until he kicked me out. Thea wouldn’t even take me in so” —he shrugs— “I came back.”

Aaron stares at him a long minute, waiting for him to say more, but Kevin just stares back. At some point in the silence, Aaron notices he’s bouncing his leg, irritation and impatience. When that line of questioning doesn’t get any more words out of Kevin, he demands, “OK, well, what is wrong with you?”

Kevin shrugs again. “Nothing outside of the usual.”

“‘Nothing out of—Kevin,’” —Aaron points at Kevin— “you avoided me for nearly a week.”

Very seriously, Kevin says, “Which is not a very long time at all.” Aaron stares and stares until Kevin’s resolve fails. Whining now, he says, “Am I not allowed to avoid you?”

“No?” Aaron answers, like it should be obvious. “I want you to talk to me. And tell me off. Make a list of all the shit you hate about me so I can tell you I don’t care, and we all move on.”

“It’s not about hating you,” Kevin stresses quietly. He takes a step back, filling the door this time. There’s a different quality to his expression, mild agitation replaced with something hard. “It’s about wanting you.”

Aaron is stunned into silence, the heat of embarrassment and something else—a stronger emotion he can’t quite name, but it feels the panic of coming upon something you know is cursed but need to see anyway, flight versus fight—crawling up his neck to his cheeks. He wonders if his face is cherry red now; if Kevin has noticed and is choosing not to comment on it because what the fuck? How can Kevin say that so easily? Now?

“You like me.” A statement more than a question, and Aaron thinks there’s awe in his voice because he can’t believe Kevin just confirmed that.

Kevin says, “I know,” jutting out his hand to stop Aaron from interjecting, “we agreed to keep it casual but I’m not—” He pauses, shifts his weight to one of his legs then the other, nervous. “I can’t do things in half measures. I should’ve known that when we started but I didn’t expect to fall for you.” Aaron struggles to keep a straight face but he forces himself to. Aaron thinks there’s irony in wanting Kevin to confirm his feelings for him and being unable to bear it when he actually does. It feels like he’s the one being confronted rather than doing the confronting. He’s being robbed of an opportunity, somehow, and it stirs within Aaron the same kind of anger he feels when he tells Kevin he hates him after he’s done something cute. Aaron thinks I should kill him. “I can’t get over you if I have to see your face all the time so I ditched for a few days. And if you want to know, I’m probably going to do it again.”

“For how long?” Aaron finds himself asking.

“Probably forever.” Kevin’s eyes land on his pile of clothes. He looks at it forlornly, probably deciding whether or not it’s worth fighting Aaron for it right now or if he’d rather sneak in to take it back later. Later, he seems to decide, and lamely, Kevin jerks his arm towards the hallway. “Can I go back to my room now?”

“No.” Aaron crooks a finger and Kevin goes forward, stops right in front of him when Aaron instructs him to. It takes another long minute for Aaron to figure out what he wants to say. He glares at Kevin, telepathically communicating for him to read his mind so he doesn’t have to say anything equally embarrassing. He gives that up when Kevin squints at him suspiciously. He fists his hand in the hem of Kevin’s shirt and pulls it away from him. Aaron gets a slap to the hand for that and a shrill, “You know I hate when you do that!” He does know. That’s why he did it.

Aaron sighs. He doesn’t know how to explain it. It wasn’t an accident, not entirely; but it wasn’t on purpose—he didn’t mean to do it when he did because it was mostly a joke, except he wasn’t been sure if it was because Kevin didn’t ask him to correct himself—didn’t say then what he’s saying now—and he didn’t know Kevin would react the way he did and then disappear for an extended amount of time, and—

In the back of his mind, there’s a pesky voice that sounds like Nicky’s saying you’ve told him, right? He doesn’t want to say all of that. He’d rather skip forward to other parts of this conversation without incriminating himself but he doesn’t know how to.

"I knew you liked me," Aaron starts, and Kevin bulldozes right over him.

"This is what I was trying to avoid." He gestures between the two of them, and Aaron takes a sharp breath in, his impatience is skyrocketing now. "The rejection." Aaron stands and Kevin lets him brush by him to close the bedroom door. “You don’t actually have to say it for me to get it.”

“Don’t I?” Aaron turns back to face Kevin. "I made an off-hand, once, and let you believe it because it was convenient." Aaron doesn't know what he was worried about—the words just flow now that he's in front of the third most annoying man in his life, hellbent, apparently, on making this a difficult discussion. Aaron shoves Kevin towards the bed and Kevin obediently sits, looking rather displeased. Good. "Because those were the terms. But then you broke the rules, and I broke the rules, and then I accidentally broke up with you because you take everything seriously, and then you didn’t talk to me instead of telling me you broke the rules, and now I'm forced to say the stupidest things to the stupidest idiot on the planet."

“What do you mean ‘accidentally’?” Aaron reaches for Kevin’s collar and twists his fist in it, ready to pull again, but the movement draws Kevin’s attention. He covers Aaron’s hand with his own to stop him. “Aaron—no. Explain yourself.”

“No, you explain yourself. Why are you only asking questions now and not before?”

Kevin shakes his arm vigorously. “There were no questions to be asked. You made it clear that this” —he points to the two of them— “was not serious. Did you change your mind?”

“Not on purpose,” Aaron mutters, and Kevin stops shaking him.

Aaron haaaaates the way Kevin Day's expression opens immediately. His eyebrows shoot up, and his mouth falls open into a stupid little 'o', and Aaron thinks he might have found a way to avoid saying too much but Kevin hears too much anyway.

"Oh, you like me," Kevin says. Aaron can see him putting pieces together in his brain and wonders if he can get with denying everything. "Ohh, you're making a big fuss right now because you like me."

"And I hate it." He might as well have said Kevin’s favourite words—yeah, you’re right—the way Kevin breaks out his award-winning smile, teeth and all.

Aaron didn’t start this conversation with his collection of various fuck you, Kevin he came equipped with, but he thinks now’s not a bad time to use them, especially since Kevin is leaning towards him and—stops, a breath away. “I want you,” he whispers, and Aaron closes his eyes against it but doesn’t refute it. “You want me.”

“Yes,” Aaron confesses, and Kevin finally kisses him. Aaron has a lot more words to say to Kevin with regards to leaving instead of talking to him but is wholly distracted. It’s weird—he’s kissed Kevin many times before but this feels different somehow; lighter, despite the all-consuming way he kisses him. Aaron holds on to him like if he lets go, he’ll lose track of Kevin again, and he’ll be damned if he does.

When they part, Kevin drops his forehead to Aaron’s chest and exhales. Aaron takes the opportunity to run his fingers through his stupid, silky black hair. Kevin says, “I thought you were breaking up with me again.”

“I know.” Aaron squeezes his head because he can. “We can do the other thing, now.”

Kevin lifts his head to look at him. “Which is?”

“The non-friends-with-benefits things—you’re laughing. I’m opening my heart up to you and you’re laughing.”

Kevin is laughing. He’s dropped his head again to shake against Aaron’s cheek “You want to date me and you can’t say it.”

“It feels wrong.”

“Aaron.” Kevin looks up again and levels him with a dead serious look. “You better tell people I’m your boyfriend. I’ll be so mad if you don’t tell people I’m your boyfriend.”

“Shut up.” Aaron claps his hand over Kevin’s mouth. “Oh, my god, shut up.” Kevin responds to that by licking Aaron’s hand. But before Aaron can throw a fit, Kevin kisses him, and Aaron forgets what he was saying.

“Say it.” Kevin trails kisses along Aaron’s jaw and gets an approving him.

Aaron thinks about it. Acknowledges that saying he likes Kevin out loud once took time and effort—and he hadn’t said it to Kevin directly. It feels embarrassing somehow, to call him boyfriend, but until he can manage it he’ll offer him this: “You’re mine.” He cups Kevin’s face and squeezes, then brings their foreheads together. “Take it or leave it.”

And oh, Aaron thinks his whole body is blushing when Kevin kisses the inside of his wrist and says, “I’ll take it.”