Archive of Our Own

Aaron casts his glance over his shoulder, at the gentle part of the crowd, back in the direction of where he had come from. Nicky had long abandoned the table after a few shots to go off dancing by himself. Aaron bumped into him on the dancefloor a few times already, met every time with a drunken Nicky’s excited shriek and a mix of equal parts mortification and joy surging through his own body.

Seated at the table as usual are Andrew and Neil. Their eyes drift out to the crowd of dancing bodies from time to time—Aaron suspects it to be one of Neil’s old, undying habits of paranoid people-watching and Andrew’s own curiosity following Neil’s gaze—but always unerringly return to meet once again, Neil’s lips turning up in a smile as he opens his mouth to speak.

Then, there’s Kevin.

Kevin has been sitting at the table, one hand firmly grasped around the neck of a bottle and the other propping his chin up. Pointedly looking away from Andrew and Neil, Kevin’s gaze flicks from his drink to the crowd.

And whenever he looks out into the sea of people, his eyes always seem to find their way to Aaron.

Aaron would chalk it up to coincidence, but there’s a higher chance that Aaron caves to his foolish feelings and lets his stares linger on Kevin. Or maybe the illogical hope Aaron never successfully squashed is what brings his gaze back every time.

But his eyes always land on Kevin for just a brief moment.

When their eyes meet, a dizzying rush of emotion floods Aaron’s senses. That gaze—it’s oddly intense. Aaron feels like his breath is getting caught in his chest, like his knees are about to give out on him.

Aaron wonders what Kevin is looking for, what he sees. For a drunk man, Kevin’s gaze is awfully focused, locked into Aaron’s every movement, whether it’s a sway to the left or a stagger backwards. Even when he brings a bottle to his lips, his gaze never seems to waver from Aaron.

Part of him wonders if Kevin is looking even when Aaron isn’t. There really isn’t a reason for him to, but does he do it anyway? Would those green eyes faithfully follow Aaron around the dancefloor, undeterred by the other moving bodies?

And would his gaze be just as captivated as it is now?

With one last lingering look at Kevin, Aaron sucks in a small breath, lets it work through the knot in his chest, and turns away, wandering a little ways into the crowd.

The booming of the bass through the club speakers rattles Aaron’s brain around in his head. It shakes the bones in his body, but it serves as the perfect distraction from Kevin, especially when the club plays throwbacks that make Aaron physically perk up.

Aaron bounces to the beat as he weaves his way through the crowd, but the bouncing bass and the alcohol rushing through his system make it inevitable that he stumbles into someone. Aaron sheepishly holds his hands up in apology, but instead of shooting him a dirty look, she just grins loosely at him and beckons him closer. The little circle she’s forming with her friends expands slowly to let Aaron worm his way in, and wariness faintly hangs onto the expressions of a few of the girls.

Aaron can’t help but to feel a little apprehensive about dancing with a few strangers himself, but when Aaron starts dancing, the girls’ wariness fades, now replaced with a carefree enthusiasm.

Each sway of his hips earns him a playful cheer from the girls, louder and more spirited with each movement. Their cheers chase away any lingering dregs of inhibition clinging to Aaron, and he dances bigger, bolder. He dances like it’s his last day alive. He dances like everyone’s watching.

(He dances, wondering if he’s watching.)

And when he comes down from his little moment in the spotlight, the girls pick up right where he left off, leaving him to hype them up in turn, shouting, bouncing, swaying, shimmying with them. Aaron can’t hide his beaming smile when they squeal and giggle so freely. He laughs a little himself, especially when one of the girls gently takes his hands and leans in to solemnly tell him that he’s the best dancer she’d ever seen.

The girl he’d initially bumped into elbows him, shouting over the music something about Instagram, and he trades handles with her. He’ll wake up sometime tomorrow with no idea who the hell is showing up in his feed and probably end up unfollowing them like he does every time he goes clubbing, but for now, he’s more than happy to make some random friends.

A sudden pressure not tight enough to hurt wraps around Aaron’s forearm—a bold, warm hand with calluses forming along the skin of the palm and right at the base of the fingers.

Aaron instinctively turns around, expecting maybe Andrew or Nicky, or maybe someone new who wants to catch a dance with him. But when he turns and his vision stops spinning just long enough to register what he’s looking at, his heart leaps up into his throat.

There stands Kevin, craning his head down to look at him.

It’s pretty rare for Kevin to join Aaron and Nicky on the dancefloor, though he’s been tagging along more often lately. Aaron can’t really fault him; he wouldn’t want to be seated at a table third-wheeling Neil and Andrew, especially not when there’s a sizable possibility that either of them or a vicious mix of both of them will start needling him about something or the other.

That possibility only increases exponentially in Kevin’s case for the sole fact that he’s Kevin.

Kevin never seems particularly comfortable dancing, but he never looks wholly uncomfortable either. He’s a bit stiff in the shoulders but willing to bob his head along to the beat. And as the nights drag on and the drinks settle in, Kevin’s embarrassment and self-preservation manage to slip away, and his voice joins the crowd in the carefree scream-singing to the popular throwbacks, likely oblivious to the way that Aaron tries to stifle his laughs, thoroughly captivated by the sight.

Kevin’s gaze now is a little drunk-dazed, unfocused but not fully gone. A faint flush climbs across his cheeks and the bridge of his nose, rises up to his forehead and right down into the collar of his black shirt. Aaron’s brain needlessly prompts him to think how, under his shirt, that same flush would claim the column of his neck, the tips of Kevin’s shoulders, the broad expanse of his chest, the divet between his collarbones…

Aaron briskly shakes off the thought. Regardless of what his alcohol-riddled brain is telling him to focus on, there’s one truth that matters at the moment.

Kevin is, undeniably, looking at Aaron.

At that realization, in that moment, an odd but welcome warmth spreads throughout Aaron’s chest, and he utterly forgets about the world around them—the DJ yelling over the mic, the other bodies knocking into him, the girls he was just dancing with.

“Kevin,” Aaron greets finally, as loudly as he can over the music, “you’re up.”

Kevin cocks his head and furrows his brow. He clearly didn’t hear a word that Aaron said.

Without a second thought, Aaron beckons Kevin to lean in closer, and when he does, Aaron can see him a little more clearly. Dancing pinks and purples and flashing blues and reds paint Kevin and soften his features. Aaron’s eyes are drawn to the fine details of Kevin: his long, dark lashes, the little mole on his neck that Aaron wants to kiss, the smoothness of his skin. From here, Aaron can actually see how razor-fresh Kevin’s skin is since he shaved before coming—he can see the spots where he’d nicked himself, and Aaron wants to laugh a little at him, at himself for being so endeared by that.

Kevin shifts his gaze to look at him, and it's green, green, green, even in the dark, even through the blinking colors overhead, but maybe Aaron just sees the color of them so clearly because he's memorized the shade.

“What?” Kevin prompts.

Aaron lets go of a breath that he didn’t know he was holding. “I said you’re finally fucking standing.”

Kevin gives him a look a few degrees removed from amused. “Got bored,” he manages simply, over the sound of the music. His lips curve into a small smile. “You looked like you were having fun.”

Aaron offers a small shrug, hoping that he sounded nonchalant and not as nervous and excited as he really was, his stupid heart doing flips in his chest. “Sure. Could be more fun if I had some company, though.”

“Then mind if I join?”

“You?” Aaron hums. “I’ll think about it.”

Kevin scoffs, but his expression is far from cross. “Should I go then?”

“Hey, who told you to leave?” Aaron moves to block Kevin from returning to the table.

When Kevin doesn’t immediately reply, the music seems to get louder between the two of them. They share a knowing look—a silent invitation and an eager yes—and it’s not long before they’re dancing to the music together. Based solely on the carefree way that Kevin’s dancing, Aaron can tell that he’s decently drunk. Kevin draws closer as he dances, as he sings along to the song roaring over the speakers, and even though they’re standing in a sea of singing people, Aaron’s attention fixates on Kevin’s voice alone.

Kevin can’t carry a tune to save his life, Aaron notes like he does every time they go out, but something about that is so cute to Aaron. How can someone so perfect at everything, from athletics to academics—hell, to even the way he looks—be so god awful at singing? And he’s singing with the kind of confidence that tells Aaron that he doesn’t have a clue how he sounds.

Aaron laughs and laughs, and the sounds come punctuated with stupid, embarrassing snorts. They make Kevin break into a beaming smile—the kind of smile that reaches his eyes and turns them into glinting crescent moons; that melts Aaron’s heart and leaves him wondering if he’s still breathing—so Aaron can’t bring himself to care.

Someone from behind jostles Aaron, and he stumbles into Kevin. He unwittingly tilts his head upward, an apology on his lips. Kevin watches him intently, an unfaltering gaze that never breaks from Aaron’s.

Aaron’s heart leaps up into his throat, and he knows that he should back up a little, but Kevin’s so fucking close, and he’s so warm, and this is all Aaron’s been able to think about for the past week leading up to their night out and—

Aaron only realizes that Kevin’s hands are hovering in the air just a hair’s breadth above his hips when Kevin finally looks down. He looks back up at Aaron, a little shy. A silent question—can I?

Can I? Kevin asks, as if he hasn’t danced this same, exact dance on this very dancefloor with Aaron every other weekend for the past few months. As if there haven’t been times when they’d been so close that they were breathing the same air, that Aaron could feel the warmth of Kevin’s body through his clothes, could feel Kevin’s eyelashes graze his cheek.

It’s a stupid fucking question.

The answer is and will always be of course.

Aaron grabs Kevin’s hands himself and guides them down. He sways his hips to the thudding beat of the song, staring up at Kevin. The intensity of Kevin’s gaze and Aaron’s own desperation to keep that attention on himself are driving Aaron crazy. Aaron feels like he can’t breathe, but strangely enough, he kind of loves it.

Aaron wishes that they could stay like this forever, with him bathing in the air that Kevin breathes and Kevin watching him like he’s the most captivating thing on the planet.

One of Kevin’s hands climbs a little higher on Aaron’s hips, his fingers playing with the hem of Aaron’s shirt. Kevin slips his hand under Aaron’s shirt and grazes his skin. Aaron jolts at the touch, an excited gasp tumbling from his lips before he can stop himself. Kevin moves back but before he can pull away, Aaron hooks his arms around Kevin’s neck and tugs him in closer.

When Aaron brings his eyes back up to Kevin, he finds that Kevin has gone back to looking at him with that burning look. There’s something unreadable written all over Kevin’s flushed face. Just as Aaron’s trying to decipher what it could mean, Kevin dips forward a touch, leaving Aaron with his heart leaping into his throat.

He doesn’t come any closer, doesn’t dare bring those lovely lips any closer, but he holds Aaron’s gaze, a free hand brushing his blonde hair out of his eyes. His hand slides down and cups his face gently. Aaron swallows.

Kevin thumbs at Aaron’s cheek, and it’s only then that Aaron understands that the look on Kevin’s face is desire.

No, there’s no way. Aaron has to be misreading Kevin’s expression and actions, and the alcohol and the yearning certainly aren’t helping.

Kevin gives him a small, close-lipped smile, as if to hint that he knows what Aaron’s thinking—as if to tell him you’re right—and Aaron grows weak in the knees. Now that Aaron knows what Kevin’s trying to tell him, his desire so overwhelmingly obvious that it’s practically tangible, he can’t help but wonder if it’s so bad to indulge in a kiss. Just one. How bad could it be?

Fuck it, Aaron thinks, slowly leaning in toward Kevin, it’s not like we’re going to remember this in the morning anyway.

Right as Kevin cranes his head down a little more towards Aaron, right as Aaron feels his eyes flutter shut and his heartbeat skyrocket, someone comes crashing into them and breaks them apart. Aaron stumbles just out of Kevin’s arms and falls flat on his ass.

Aaron whips his head around to fire a glare at anyone around them, but when he can’t lock eyes with the tactless asshole who just robbed him of a kiss from Kevin, he just huffs out a sigh and turns back towards Kevin.

Kevin offers him a hand up, and a part of Aaron wants to believe that Kevin’s frowning the way he is because he’s just as peeved as Aaron is about their ruined moment.

“It’s too fucking crowded here,” Aaron tells him, grabbing Kevin’s hand, and Kevin’s nodding his head without even having heard properly. “C’mon. Let’s go somewhere else.”

In between bursts of consciousness, Aaron finds himself floating around the club with Kevin, hand in hand. One blink and they’re at the counter with Aaron impatiently waving his credit card at the nearest bartender. Kevin points at a bottle past the bartender’s shoulder, and Aaron manages to order himself and Kevin another shot, elation sparking every nerve in his body when Kevin seamlessly hooks his arm around Aaron’s to take the shot together.

Another blink and Aaron’s leaning against a wall, mumbling something that even he himself can’t decipher. Kevin nudges a flimsy plastic cup into his hand with a cup of his own in his other hand. A burly bouncer eyes the both of them warily. Aaron snatches the plastic cup of water from Kevin, gulps it down, and then trudges back onto the dancefloor with Kevin in tow.

One more blink and Aaron’s standing in the lonely corner of the bar next to the bathroom. Kevin is mysteriously absent from Aaron’s side—wait, a part of Aaron thinks with shocking clarity, isn’t he taking a piss?

Aaron catches a glimpse of himself and startles, not expecting a mirror to be in the middle of an archway. He squints at it, wondering if it’d always been there or if it’s a new decoration.

“Let’s go,” says his reflection.

Aaron squints a little harder, tentatively raising a hand to his own lips. Did he say that? Apparently not because his mirror image crosses his arms instead.

“Aaron.”

Well, he definitely didn’t just say his own name, and there’s only one person on the planet who looks and sounds just like him. Aaron relaxes his expression and drops his arms to his sides. “Oh. It’s you.”

“Yes. Me.” Andrew doesn’t bat an eye. “We’re going now.”

“Going now?” Aaron gives pause, and once the words tumbling from his own mouth form a meaning in his head, he scrunches up his nose. “Home? Already? We just got here.”

“We’ve been here for almost three hours.”

Aaron flicks his gaze out past Andrew. The size and energy of the crowd claiming the dancefloor certainly didn’t look any smaller three hours after they’d stepped into the club. Andrew follows Aaron’s gaze, but he loses interest not long after and lets his attention snap back to his twin.

“Well?”

“No. Fuck off. I don’t want to go home yet.”

“I’ll leave without you.”

It’s right then that Aaron should have picked up on the warning underlying the monotony in Andrew’s voice. Yet, instead of using his brain, Aaron let the alcohol speak for him.

“Okay? Then, do it, asshole,” Aaron replies, then he goes as far as to tack on a childish, “Coward. You won’t.”

The shift in Andrew’s expression is slight, infinitesimal, and, to most, unimportant—a twitch in his eyebrows, the setting of his jaw, a glint of something odd in his eyes—but Aaron spots it. He doesn’t know what to make of it, but he spots it. Funny how someone can wear his face and make an expression that he can’t quite read.

“Yeah? I won’t, huh?” Andrew muses. Then, with an almost resigned nod to himself, he turns on his heel and walks away.

Aaron’s eyes trail after Andrew until he loses him in the crowd, and when he looks up where Neil is seated at the table, Andrew takes a seat there beside him. Seeing that his twin sat back down, Aaron takes this as a rare victory and turns around to join the other clubbers.

Sometime later, Aaron stumbles his way toward the table to catch his breath. Kevin finds his way to one of the seats, lets go of Aaron, and falls against the table with a small sigh. Aaron wants to do the same, but he’d much rather wait until he got home before collapsing in a big, drunk pile.

It’s a little odd that Andrew and Neil aren’t here, but there could be a hundred reasons why.

Andrew did mention wanting to go home—but how long ago was that? It couldn’t have been too long ago, considering there’s still a massive crowd on the dancefloor and the lights haven’t come on to shoo away any remaining clubbers.

He might be outside then, waiting for Aaron and Kevin to dance themselves to exhaustion.

Aaron sets a hand on Kevin’s shoulder and shakes him slowly.

“Hey,” Aaron slurs, “you awake?”

Kevin peeks his eyes open, then nods sluggishly.

Barely, Aaron recognizes. But as long as Kevin can stand, as long as this doesn’t become a practical test of how much Aaron can bench while inebriated, Aaron will take it.

He nods back at Kevin. “Okay. Let’s go home. Nicky and Andrew are probably outside waiting for us.”

Kevin nods again, but he’s already starting to melt back down into a sad, drunk puddle against the tabletop. Aaron grips him around the wrist, and Kevin looks up at him.

“Can’t,” Kevin says simply.

“Come on.” Scooping an arm under Kevin’s and tossing it over his own shoulder, Aaron slowly pulls Kevin to his feet. Kevin moans something incoherent and swipes a hand over his eyes. It sounds somewhere between a request to lie down and a warning that he’s about to vomit. “No, you’re up, Kevin, you’re fine. You’re fine. Let’s go.”

These simple reassurances would go unremembered come morning, Aaron knows, so there is no harm in being a little gentler with Kevin, a little more honest. Everywhere that Kevin touches him feels unbearably hot, but Aaron doesn’t think that he could have pulled away even if he wanted to.

With a sigh and another moan, Kevin staggers onto his feet, though he’s quick to sway. Aaron braces himself and pulls Kevin in closer.

“I’ve got you,” Aaron mumbles and wills away the dizziness settling in his own head, sinking down into his unsteady legs. “You’re okay.”

It’s hard enough being five-foot-nothing in a world that accommodates people who are a “normal” height. It’s no question that hauling around all six feet of a drunken athlete is a near herculean task for someone of that height, only made leagues harder by the fact that he’s still a little drunk himself.

Aaron lugs Kevin out toward the door to the best of his ability, ignoring both the affronted looks he gets from people he’s pushing past and the curious looks from people watching the shitshow. The bouncer says something to him—at least, Aaron thinks it’s meant for him, but the buzz from the alcohol hasn’t quite left his head all the way yet—but Aaron shakes his head at him and continues his weary march to the parking lot.

Overhead, cold rain droplets start to trickle from the sky and plop unceremoniously on the clubgoers.

Just their luck.

Well, Aaron isn’t the one who’s going to be driving through the rain—that privilege goes to Andrew—so Aaron pays little attention to the faint pitter-patter atop his head and along his exposed arms, and he drags Kevin, who’s mumbling all sorts of drunken incoherencies, to the parking lot.

Andrew, as eclectic as he may be, is still a man of habit. Whenever they come to Eden’s, he always manages to find the same perfect spot each and every time, tucked away in the corner of the special parking lot that they have access to.

But Andrew’s car isn’t parked where it typically is.

Nothing to be worried about, really. Perhaps Aaron wasn’t paying attention when Andrew parked the car, anticipating they would find that same spot again; or perhaps he was too busy thinking about what he would order at the bar. Or maybe Aaron was distracted by the light, warm pressure against his left knee, where Kevin’s leg was casually pressed up against him, leaving Aaron reeling with a heady glee so potent that it felt like he’d been drinking all night despite only having had a single shot during the unceremonious pregame with Nicky and Kevin back at home.

Whatever the reason, there’s a simple fix. He’ll just have to go and find the car manually. More work for Aaron, which is always less than ideal, especially with the rain, but nothing horrible.

Aaron sets off to look around the parking lot. But, as he nears the end of the parking lot, a droplet of dread trickles into his bloodstream. He still hadn’t spotted Andrew’s car.

When Aaron rounds the corner to look at the very last car in the lot—a random red Nissan Altima—the realization makes his stomach drop and leaves him winded.

Andrew’s car isn’t there at all.

No, Aaron convinces himself immediately, near hysterically. There’s no way. Andrew wouldn’t just leave him and Kevin at Eden’s, drunk.

Aaron looks around once more, much more carefully this time. Checking the models, the license plates, hell, even looking inside a few of the windows to see if he can spot his twin—but the closest thing he sees is his own face glaring back at him in the dark glass of random cars.

The Maserati simply isn’t there.

“Fuck,” Aaron whispers.

He’s sure that he looks sketchy as hell peering into people’s cars like this, but he’s not looking to get reported or pulled into some kind of altercation with the bouncers standing outside the club so he finally gives in and lugs Kevin to one of the club walls, just under an eave so that they’re both out of the rain.

Aaron fishes his phone out of his pocket and dials Andrew’s number, his brain a loud loop of comeoncomeoncomeon, pick up the phone…

Andrew answers promptly after the second ring.

“Oh, hello, Aaron,” he greets in a casual drawl, as if he’d been sitting around waiting for the call. As if he hadn’t just abandoned his own flesh and blood—and also Kevin—at the club. “Funny hearing from you this time of night. Say, where are you?”

“Asshole,” Aaron snaps. Andrew is obnoxiously aware of the situation that he’d thrown Aaron and Kevin into. “Just—come get us.”

“I don’t think I want to.”

Aaron sighs. “Come on. This isn’t funny anymore.”

Admittedly, Aaron could see how this is really funny.

If they’d all left Kevin at Eden’s and Aaron was in on the joke, he would have had a fun laugh alongside the other guys. Kevin would be so insufferable. He’d whine and bitch and moan and beg them all to come collect him in a borderline childish pout, the sulky way that he tends to get when the Foxes get together to lovingly and unfortunately make fun of him. And Aaron would happily share this laugh with his cousin and twin and even... Neil… over their brief, newfound silence for a minute or two before a vexing sense of worry simmered to the surface of his skin.

Is Kevin okay? he’d think. Who’s taking care of him? Should we go get him? Okay, we should go get him. What if he chokes on his own puke while we’re having a laugh and dies?

His stupid brain only ever fixates on Kevin’s wellbeing even in hypothetical situations, it seems. How pathetic.

…Maybe Andrew would have left him out of the prank if Kevin was the only intended target.

“Well, maybe to you. Personally, I’m having a blast. Nicky’s ordering pizza for us. Isn’t that nice of him? We’ll see if we can save you a slice, but Neil and I are pretty hungry so no promises.” Andrew hums. “And it’s so nice and warm in here. Looks like it’ll rain soon, no? I saw that we’re in for a thunderstorm tonight.”

Being caught in a thunderstorm would be even more of a nightmare scenario than what they’re already in. Aaron grits his teeth. “Which is exactly why you should come pick us up. Now.”

An exaggeratedly befuddled noise escapes Andrew, and Aaron can practically hear him leaning up from wherever he was sitting, the subtle turn of his voice indicating a sliver of seriousness, a genuine vexation.

“Now why should I do that? I told you two that we were about to leave, and you said what?” Andrew pauses, as if to give Aaron ample time to answer, but when Aaron can’t bring himself to sheepishly eke out what he’d said, Andrew offers an obnoxiously bright, “Oh! Right! You told me to fuck off because you wanted to dance some more.”

Aaron shuts his eyes tightly, emphatically damning his past self. “Fine. I take it back. So come and get us.”

Aaron knows that Andrew would definitely come back in a heartbeat if he expressed genuine concerns over his safety, but he and Kevin aren’t really in danger at all. It’s really not that deep. This is more of an inconvenience than anything else. Still, an anxious knot twists itself into Aaron’s insides at the idea that Andrew is really dragging his feet on his way to them.

“Look. I told you I’d leave without you two. Did you think I was joking?”

“Yes!” Aaron tries to massage away the exasperated furrow forming between his brows. “Okay! Okay. Lesson learned. Kevin and I will leave when you tell us to leave next time. So can you just come get us already?”

“Lesson learned,” Andrew echoes idly, clearly unsold on that idea. “Alright. Then show your work.”

Aaron feels a headache coming on. He can hardly hold himself and Kevin upright. They wobble, swaying into the bricks of the club every once in a while. He definitely does not have the mental clarity to untangle all of the strange things that his twin likes to say, and part of him is sure that Andrew is very intentionally being hard to understand.

Aaron groans. “Stop being cryptic and get in your stupid car right now, Andrew. I am not fucking around.”

“Hey, now. Is that any way to talk to your brother?”

Aaron knows that Andrew’s almost playful attitude won’t be leaving anytime soon. He’s way too entertained by this situation that he’d thrust Aaron into. It’s showing in his voice.

So Aaron clicks his tongue and hangs up.

A bad idea he recognizes only after he’d done it. He stares down at his phone.

But he’s way too stubborn to go crawling back to Andrew. Besides, after that little stunt, it was more likely that if Aaron called again, Andrew was just going to let his phone ring its pitiful way to the automated voicemail message. He’s officially on his own.

Now, Aaron needs to figure out what to do.

The easiest, most logical answer is to find an Uber, a Lyft, hell, a taxi of any sort. Aaron opens up the app store on his phone and after a bit of fumbling, lands himself on the information page for Uber. Just before he taps download, he pauses and thinks for a moment.

Download the app, make an account, fill out his personal information, connect his credit card to the app, wait for someone to accept his ride request amidst the many other clubbers’ requests, put in their address and inevitably have to navigate some driver down the crowded and twisty road home, then have to haul himself and Kevin up the stairs of the porch…

He can barely read the words on the screen. Doing all of that seems impossible. Just thinking about it is enough to give Aaron a thudding headache.

Aaron exits the app and reaches into his pocket for the last of the shooters he’d snuck into the club without a second thought. He flicks off the cap, downs it with a scowl at the burning bitter taste—which of them let Aaron buy Fireball of all the choices at the package store?—and tosses the empty plastic bottle onto the ground. He wipes his mouth with his sleeve, painfully aware of the miserable look plaguing his expression in the aftermath.

There has got to be an easier solution to this predicament.

Aaron could probably contact Nicky since he probably knows about the situation and Andrew’s hand in it, but what would Nicky do about it? What could he do about it? Nicky doesn’t have a car, and there’s no way that Andrew would let him drive the Maserati, especially not when he’s in the middle of teaching Kevin and Aaron some convoluted message about communication on a night out.

Still, it could be worth a shot.

Aaron unlocks his phone and opens up his messages. He tries to shoot Nicky a text, but it’s much harder than he expects and much harder than he wants to admit.

Trying to type something coherent, Aaron squints at the screen not only because it’s stupid bright against the dark night swallowing them up, but because the thin letters are dancing around, practically evading his clumsy, rain-slick thumb. He slowly manages to key out a pathetic hry nivky before giving up and stuffing his phone back into his pocket.

(And for some godforsaken reason, it completely slips his mind that he could just call Nicky using his phone, just like he had with Andrew only minutes earlier.

Looks like even with all the relatively coherent arguing he managed with Andrew, he’s still not quite sober, and that shot from earlier certainly won’t be helping.)

As a last resort, Aaron could—

No.

Absolutely not.

Even thinking about Neil as an option puts a sour taste in Aaron’s mouth. Aaron would sooner walk back to the house in the pouring rain—in a raging hurricane, even, in nothing but his birthday suit—than turn to Neil for any help in convincing Andrew. Neil would probably wear that stupid smug look, that bastard, and shrug his shoulders in a carefree what do you want me to do? kind of way, as if he isn’t directly in contact with the asshole with the car. He would be of no help whatsoever, and he wouldn’t even have the grace to pretend to be sorry about it.

Besides, odds are that Neil’s on Andrew’s side.

Kevin moans, breaking Aaron out of his frustratingly fruitless musings.

Aaron grimaces. “If you throw up on me, I’m leaving you here,” he warns.

“Andrew,” Kevin mumbles, and it’s the first coherent thing that he’s said in the past ten minutes.

Aaron heaves an unapologetic sigh. Of course he’s the first person that Kevin thinks about.

For years, it’s been like that, and not just with Kevin. Aaron has been more or less invisible to the world, an afterthought, a shadow to his own twin. Aaron is always the other Minyard, or the normal one, or the short backliner. His identity always seemed to hinge on the context of people around him. Andrew, Nicky, Kevin. The Foxes.

It’s like he’d never just been Aaron.

Amongst his family, Kevin, and Neil, he knows that his existence carries significantly more weight, but there is, and maybe always will be—Betsy argues otherwise, but Aaron hasn’t learned to put much faith in her words yet—a niggling voice wondering if he’s really seen. By Andrew and Nicky, he knows he certainly is, and by Neil, begrudgingly, but what about Kevin?

Aaron wonders and wonders, but he really doubts that Kevin thinks much of him. After all, Kevin struck up that deal with Andrew all those years ago, gluing himself to him for support and protection. It would only make sense that Aaron fell to the wayside.

It doesn’t make it hurt any less.

But before he can correct Kevin on which Minyard he’s currently clinging to—would it be better to lie to him that I’m Andrew? thinks Aaron briefly and at that thought, he hates that he hadn’t brought along at least one more shooter—Kevin shakes his head once, briskly, enough to give him a bit of the spins. He hisses, pressing a hand to his eyes.

“No. I know. Andrew...” Kevin hangs his head with an almost labored sigh, then slurs his words when he speaks next. “Andrew left us here, didn’t he?”

Distantly, an embarrassing wave of delight races along the surface of Aaron’s skin at the fact that Kevin actually hadn’t mixed him up with Andrew. But rationally speaking, he’d probably just heard Aaron referring to Andrew by name and correctly figured that Andrew wouldn’t refer to himself in third person. If not Andrew, then Aaron, of course.

Wait, did I say Andrew’s name at all in that call? part of Aaron wonders.

But the haze of alcohol is only getting stronger and stronger with each passing minute, and he can’t quite recall. The only reasonable answer is that yes, he had, and Kevin just seemed to overhear so he leaves it be.

Aaron sighs again. “You’re a little behind, but yeah. He left us here.”

“Motherfucker.” Kevin lets out a long sigh and tries to right himself. He stumbles. “Okay. Okay. Let’s figure this out.” He presses his hand to his eyes again. “I’m sober.”

Aaron doesn’t miss a beat. “Liar.”

Kevin huffs once, faintly amused. Whether it’s with Aaron, himself, or this ridiculous situation they’re in, Aaron has no idea, but at least one of them is entertained by this because Aaron very much isn’t.

“Yeah. I’m still kind of fucked.”

At a complete loss for words, Aaron just shakes his head.

Kevin adds, “I’ll sober up soon.”

“Yeah, whatever. Okay. Look. Baby steps. First thing: getting out of the rain. Check.”

As if on cue, an angled blast of wind sends the rain flying up at them. Aaron scrunches his nose when his face is met with the prickly and sudden spray of rainwater.

Kevin looks down at him, his expression now plainly lit up with amusement.

“Shut up.” Aaron swipes his hands over his face and flicks the accumulation of rain off his palms into Kevin’s face. Kevin scowls.

“I didn’t say anything.”

“And you should keep it that way.”

Aaron peers up at the eave above them. They could stay there for a while, but the pounding of the music is getting a little irritating, and he’s not too fond of the wary look that the bouncer is throwing his way. Ideally, they would get out of there as soon as possible.

“Look, can’t we just go back inside?” Kevin starts to wilt again, now leaning against Aaron. He presses his forehead against Aaron’s shoulder and sighs quietly. And when he speaks next, his voice comes softly, less like one of his whiny complaints and more like a gentle plea. “It’s not closing time yet. Probably. We can drink a little more.”

Aaron’s heart jumps a little at the contact, at the soft, almost contented sound that Kevin had let out. Kevin’s soft, dark hair tickles his cheek when Aaron turns to face him. Aaron’s lips are just a breath away from Kevin, and even the smallest movement forward would have his lips grace Kevin’s wet, soft skin. And maybe he’d taste like the rain, fresh and clean.

Would Kevin let him do that?

In that slim chance that he did, would he turn his head and join their lips together?

But then, Kevin’s words finally sink into his head. The very thought of another drink is enough to make Aaron queasy despite the shooter he’d managed to down earlier. Admittedly, alcohol would be greatly appreciated in dulling that bittersweet pain in his chest from Kevin being so close yet so utterly unattainable, but it’s high time that they brought their night to an end. Aaron would be damned if he lets his stupid heart get in the way of him flopping face first into his wonderful, warm bed and sleeping through the next two days.

“You can go back in if you want. I’m tired. I’m getting home one way or another, and if you’re not coming with me, then you’re on your own.”

Kevin sighs again, this time sounding annoyed. He rolls his head one way, practically burying his face in the shoulder of Aaron’s shirt. There’s a small moment of peace and quiet before he turns to properly face Aaron again. “...Fine. Then what’re we doing?”

“Why do I need to do all the thinking? Come up with something on your own.”

Aaron forces himself to pull his shoulder from Kevin, for his own sanity. Kevin pulls a face at the sudden jolt and loss of a warm shoulder to lie against, but he doesn’t protest much further, instead opting to lean against the brick wall.

“Can’t. Drunk.”

Aaron can’t help the amused huff that pushes his way through his nostrils. “Uh-huh, sure. You sound a lot less drunk than you were earlier. You just want me to take care of you.”

It’s wildly presumptuous and self-indulgent to say, Aaron knows, but there’s roughly a ninety-nine percent chance that Kevin won’t even remember this interaction in the morning, so does it really even matter what he says?

In lieu of an actual answer, Kevin presses his lips shut, ducks his head, and offers a monotonous hum.

Somehow, it almost lilts up into agreement; logically, it’s most likely to be dissent. Aaron doesn't know how to interpret that, and try as he might to think as logically as he can, he can't quite quash any hope or foolish excitement.

"What, you're serious?"

"I'd rather you take care of me—”

Aaron’s heart skips a beat, leaves him breathless.

“—’cause it’s less work."

And just like that, Aaron’s heart comes tumbling down from the highs it had just been at. He takes a deep breath, but it does little to mend the sting left by Kevin’s words. Of course wanting Aaron to take care of him isn’t born of any kind of desire but pragmatism. Aaron is a fool for thinking, even for a second, that this was anything else.

This reminds him of when Kevin sprained his ankle during practice. After getting handed a compression wrap and a quick lecture about keeping off the field until his ankle fully healed, he had waved off help from just about everyone who offered—which, admittedly, hadn’t been many people. But when Aaron had been passing by, Kevin had kicked up a fuss about struggling to put on the wrap. And how could Aaron ignore him?

Aaron gave him shit for it while helping him, of course—you’ve gotten hurt how many times and you still can’t put on a compression wrap yourself?—but he tried to be as gentle as he could with Kevin, paying attention to any little wince or hiss of pain.

When he finished up, he realized that Kevin was looking at him in a way that was too intense. Right as Aaron moved to leave, eager to drive away the uncomfortable thumping of his heart in his chest, Kevin reached out and caught his wrist with ease. It burned where he touched like it always did and Kevin seemed really thankful, his words soft and solemn. Aaron forced himself to look away and—

He doesn't want to be relegated to just being Kevin's caretaker. That's a stupid career (for a stupid man), but maybe it's nice for Kevin to need him. He doesn't want to spend a lifetime looking away.

Those are thoughts he pushes way out of his mind to examine when he's not three drinks and a Fireball shooter deep in a rainy parking lot.

Aaron heaves a sigh. “I should just leave you here to take care of yourself. You’ve done it before. You can do it again.”

“Aw. Do you hate it that much?”

Aaron blinks. “...No.”

“So what’s wrong with looking after me this time?”

Aaron frowns. He wants to tell Kevin that if he says yes now, he’ll say yes next time and the time after that too, and it’ll be a never-ending cycle where Aaron selfishly yearns for Kevin’s trust and touch, only for it to be given when they’re both too drunk to remember—

“...Just this once.”

“So you’ll do it then?” Kevin’s voice carries a certain airy joy of a man getting what he wants, but something is mixed into his tone that Aaron can’t entirely discern. Relief? Hope?

“I guess. But I’m not just taking care of you. You’re pulling your own weight a little too, got it?” Aaron sighs. “You find an Uber. I’ll… figure out where we should stay until we find one.”

Kevin removes his phone from his pocket and starts plugging a string of letters into the app store search function, but he doesn’t seem like he’s paying much attention to what he’s typing.

“Hey,” Kevin says, not looking away from his screen. “If you’re going to take care of me, feed me.”

Waffle House is a cruel mistress, perfect and heavenly during a drunken romp, and also the closest restaurant they could get to on unsteady feet. If it wasn’t for its convenience, Aaron would have chosen a different place—Waffle House is always obnoxiously cold, and when he crosses that threshold, that fact is still true today.

The second that Aaron pulls the glass door open, a blast of chilly air rushes to greet him. Aaron pulls a face and shoves Kevin inside. It’s far from ideal that he’s seeking refuge from the rain in the world’s coldest place next to Antarctica. Being in here is arguably worse than standing in the rain.

Kevin stumbles his way to a booth and flops down onto the plastic bench with a half-assed greeting to the unimpressed teenager working the kitchen on his own. Aaron grits his teeth, thinks out a hundred different ways to cuss out Andrew in a way that would actually mean anything to him, and slides into the booth across from Kevin.

“’s too bright,” Kevin mutters, and he sets his forehead down against the sticky surface of the table. Aaron winces just imagining the faint residue of the restaurant’s sticky syrup against his own skin, but if it bothers Kevin, he doesn’t show it.

Kevin isn’t wrong. Even from outside, the lights beneath the hideous, highlighter yellow sign look sickly and bright. It must be only a shade or two removed from the same blinding white lighting of hospitals, though far less powerful and sterile.

“Hey.” Aaron flicks his gaze to the worker who’d addressed them. He holds out two menus, visibly vexed by the fact that he has new customers to tend to.

Aaron takes the slick, laminated menus from the server. Like the table, they’re also oddly sticky. Aaron is acutely aware that this is surely a recurring phenomenon within not just this Waffle House but all Waffle Houses across the Southern United States, but it never fails to make him a little uncomfortable. The second he sets the menu on the table, he reaches for a napkin.

The server removes a pen and yellow notepad from his apron and gives the two of them a cutting look. He doesn’t say anything, just clicks his pen impatiently, a sound that only seems to get faster and louder the longer Aaron waits to speak.

“Uh, could I just get a Coke?” Aaron looks down at Kevin, still face-down on the table. “And a cup of water for him. Just put them on one tab.”

The server looks down at Kevin, then turns his gaze to Aaron. A plain warning mars his already grim expression.

It’s not a warning, Aaron realizes belatedly. It’s closer to a threat.

Aaron flicks a dismissive hand in Kevin’s direction. “He’s fine. Just dramatic.”

At this, Kevin brings his hand up to flip Aaron off. The server doesn’t even bat an eye at the interaction, scrawling something in his notepad before heading off to fetch some plastic cups. Within seconds, he has the cups on the table in front of the duo. Again, the server says nothing, but he stands there at the head of their table, clicking his pen. Click, click, click.

Aaron has half a mind to swat that pen out of that man’s hand, but the last thing he wants is for them to get kicked out of the restaurant when it’s the only place that’ll keep them dry for the time being.

“We’re not ready,” Aaron grits out. “Give us a minute.”

“Yeah, sure.” The server couldn’t have spoken those words any faster, just about cutting Aaron off. With that simple statement, the server stalks off to the corner of the kitchen to look at his phone.

Aaron shoots him a dirty look, but in the end, he can’t really fault him. If he were working in a Waffle House at some unholy hour on a rainy night serving two drunk idiots, Aaron would be just as insufferable, if not worse.

Still, he lets the scowl linger on his expression just a touch longer.

When Aaron turns his gaze down to the table, Kevin’s phone draws his gaze. Kevin had graciously taken on the task of downloading Uber while they had trudged through rain and navigated godawful sidewalks that the city had half-assedly paved.

Aaron reaches out and captures one of Kevin’s hands in one of his own. He fumbles with his slender, callused fingers—Kevin’s fighting him to take his hand back, that asshole—until he has Kevin’s thumb isolated. He taps Kevin’s thumb on the phone’s fingerprint reader until the phone unlocks, then tosses Kevin’s hand aside and idly runs up the search for an Uber in his area.

It comes up blank. It certainly doesn’t help that Kevin’s phone keeps failing to connect to any form of wifi nearby.

Aaron sighs. He sets the phone back down. “Take your time picking something to eat. We’ll probably be here for a while.”

Aaron prods at Kevin with the edge of one of the menus and takes a look at his own copy. Kevin begrudgingly takes the menu—you’re the one who said you were hungry, Aaron thinks bitterly—and finally sits up properly, though only briefly.

The menu is bright enough without the sheen from the laminated layer covering it. The menu screams of some kind of misplaced American pride, blocks of red and white and blue on every inch of the damn thing, with pops of bright yellow in the form of jagged speech bubbles. Between pictures of exaggeratedly perfect breakfast foods, large, alternatively bolded black text comically fills the blank space.

Waffles, eggs, bacon. Cheese, ham, toast. Sandwiches, burgers, steaks.

Aaron’s gaze skates over the pictures with relative disinterest. He can’t even think of stomaching anything sweet, and salty foods don’t feel very appetizing either. He tries to read the names of the dishes, all practical names simply listing the components of the meal and the obnoxiously big, bold ALL-STAR SPECIAL, whose ingredients are unclear.

Kevin leans his head against the palm of one propped-up arm and looks down at the menu. Not even a minute later, Kevin offers Aaron a simple, “This sucks.”

“Yeah. Andrew needs to stop fucking around and come get us.”

“No, not that. The food here.” Kevin gestures at the menu and it’s like a switch flips. A light finds its way back into Kevin’s eyes, and he moves less like a man caught in slow motion and more like an animated, breathing person. “I know they’re all going to be awful. They don’t even put the calorie count for the meals, just the added sides. And chili? Cheesesteaks? Isn’t this place called Waffle House? Who in their right mind would get anything else?”

Of fucking course Kevin only sobers up to complain insufferably about something health-related.

Aaron’s senseless heart convinces him that there’s still something oddly enjoyable about this side of him too. The way that a knot forms between his eyebrows while he spouts all sorts of concerns about health, the subtle glint in his eyes when he’s ranting about something that he cares about. Kevin’s complaints are plenty, usually practiced, clipped, and rudely announced, which is why no one takes his criticisms well. But if he’s comfortable enough, he’ll go off like this, petulant and overbearing, loud and assertive.

Aaron wonders if Kevin is as talkative with the guys back at home as he is with Aaron; if the line of his shoulders is always this relaxed, or if this is a privilege reserved just for Aaron.

Aaron wants to smile watching Kevin grow heated about something so pointless. He doesn’t—there’s no reason to interrupt Kevin’s rant by drawing attention to himself—but fondness flickers across his face as a flash of heat.

“So you’re getting a waffle?”

Kevin reels back, very much offended. “Hell no. Were you listening to anything I just said? Do you know how many calories are in a waffle? Carbs? Sugar? Not to mention the syrup—”

Aaron rolls his eyes. “Okay. Fine. Whatever. Then what are you getting?”

“You really want me to eat something from here?”

“Look, it’s either staying in here and having a warm, fucked up snack, or standing out in the rain, cold and hungry, like poor street rats. Your choice.” Aaron sighs, propping his chin up in his palm. “I’m the one footing the bill anyway so hurry up and pick something before I change my mind.”

“So you’re serious.”

“If it’ll help you sleep tonight, we can just share a meal and cut your macros.”

At this, Kevin presses his lips into a thin line, his gaze obviously displeased with the choices on the menu, but he does stop complaining, which is all that Aaron can really ask of him.

Though Kevin has moved his attention to something more interesting, Aaron can’t help but to let his stare linger on him.

If there’s one good side to being in Waffle House, it’s that Aaron can see Kevin’s beauty in perfect clarity. It feels like it’s been a long time since Aaron’s been able to see Kevin in such bright lighting, even though he sees him just about every day, but the horrid lighting overhead reveals just how unfairly stunning Kevin is. Even though they’d been viciously rained on, his dark hair falls in loose, effortlessly cool waves over his forehead. The furrow between his brows as he sincerely contemplates the nutritional value of each menu item under his breath is painfully endearing, and if Aaron had taken even one more shot earlier, he wouldn’t be able to stop himself from reaching forward to smooth it out with his thumbs.

And maybe at that point, at such close proximity, Aaron could cup Kevin’s face between his hands and muster up the foolish courage to tell Kevin that he’s always so fucking pretty and that there’s nothing more that Aaron wants in his life than to kiss him. He might’ve done it in the shadows of the dance floor, if the moment hadn’t been ruined. He thinks Kevin would have kissed him back.

He thinks maybe, just maybe, Kevin would let him do it now.

Feeling a frustrating flush rise to his face, Aaron pulls his gaze down to the menu.

After a slow bout of deliberation, Aaron decides that his head is killing him, a mixture of the strain put on his brain from the alcohol and the bright lights.

Not to mention the fact that the brutal air-conditioned cold is currently driving him insane.

Aaron shivers, forcing out a curse between clenched teeth. He’d anticipated getting used to the cold temperatures of the diner, but he’s struggling to keep himself warm. Thinking warm thoughts is not helping, and no matter how tightly he curls in on himself, he isn’t retaining as much body heat as he’d like. He just wants to hurry up and get the hell out of there.

“Can we order yet?” Aaron looks up at Kevin, only to see him studying him intently. There’s something in his eyes that Aaron can’t quite read.

Aaron’s lips are forming the word what? when his world is suddenly enveloped in darkness, accompanied by the wet weight of something soft. It smells familiar. Cologne—a cedary, woodsy smell, faintly sweet like maple but with slight dark notes. And it’s mixed with a faint leathery fragrance, likely a result of the cologne being spritzed on the fabric of Kevin’s jacket.

Kevin had dropped his jacket on Aaron’s head while he was brooding over the cold.

Aaron pulls the jacket off of his head and levels Kevin with a flat look.

“What? You’re cold.”

Kevin pulls the red, Coca-Cola branded cup of water closer to himself, his finger rubbing at the chip along the rim. When he looks up, his expression is just as flat as Aaron’s, but Aaron swears that embarrassment tints his expression somehow. Maybe it’s in his refusal to look Aaron in the eyes, or maybe the gentle furrow knotting itself between his brows; maybe it’s the unreadable way he’d pulled his lips down, not quite a sympathetic smile and not quite a frown but something wavering in between.

Maybe Aaron’s reading too much into it..

“Just take it,” Kevin says.

“You take it. It’s cold, and it’s your jacket.”

Kevin shakes his head. “Don’t need it. I drank myself a jacket.”

At Aaron’s unconvinced silence, he reaches out a hand toward Aaron’s side. He curls his fingers in, the unspoken give me your hand gesture, and Aaron doesn’t deny him. The tips of Aaron’s cold fingers flutter unsurely over Kevin’s palm before Kevin grips his hand, an immediate warmth.

Kevin tugs Aaron’s hand up closer, toward his stupid, pretty face and the pleasant, pink flush still lingering there, and rests his cheek against the back of Aaron’s hand. Aaron almost wants to gasp, not because of the stark heat along Kevin’s skin now melding against Aaron’s hand, but because of the tenderness in that action.

Kevin has never been bold enough to touch Aaron like this, not in a place where anyone could see them.

Kevin may be as dense as he is pretty, but even he should know damn well what this must look like to an outsider, not to mention to Aaron. Still, he doesn’t back down, keeping Aaron’s hand pinned gently to his cheek, just a few scant centimeters from his lips. Any closer, Aaron thinks breathlessly, and it’s like Kevin is pressing a kiss to his hand.

Is this intentional? Aaron can’t bring himself to say anything, as if it would shatter this gentle moment into a million irreparable shards.

Kevin drags his gaze—strangely and suffocatingly soft—up to meet Aaron’s own.

“See? I’ll be fine.”

Aaron stares at Kevin, entirely at a loss for words. If Kevin’s face is pink from the alcohol, then Aaron’s is shades darker from the sheer embarrassment and the stuttering of his heart.

The corners of Kevin’s mouth perk up into a small, near mischievous smile. “What?”

Kevin has to have done that knowingly. Aaron bites back the urge to tell Kevin to put that smile away and stop teasing him in favor of sighing. He mutters, “Whatever. Your loss.”

Aaron frees his hand and tugs the jacket over himself without further ado. The jacket swallows him whole, but it coats him in that warm and comfortable smell that he started associating with Kevin. Aaron experimentally raises his arms, only to find that the sleeves extend way past his hands. The jacket is almost closer to a blanket than it is an article of clothing.

Aaron, still holding up his arms, looks at Kevin with owlish eyes. And at this, Kevin actually laughs. He ducks his head down, as if to hide his amusement, but his shoulders quake with the force of his delighted laughter, fully defeating the purpose. He eventually gives up and lets out a sputtered laugh, a welcome sound, soft and warm like a gentle hug.

Kevin is laughing, yes, but somehow, Aaron knows in his heart that it is not entirely at him, but with him.

Aaron combats the flutter in his chest by tensing his shoulders and glaring at Kevin, trying his damnedest to bite back his own amused laugh. It’s always hard not to laugh when Kevin laughs. It’s an inviting sound, rare but invaluable.

“Stop that.”

“What? It’s funny. It swallows you up. It’s kind of cute.”

The two of them flinch, almost in unison.

Aaron’s face is heating up, he knows, but he can’t help it. His mind repeats those words over and over in his head. It’s cute, he hears Kevin say, until his possibly-still-drunk brain twists those words into you’re cute. Aaron sucks in a breath and wishes that he could stay in this moment forever, wrapped in Kevin’s jacket, the sound of his laughter and his teasing remarks in the foreground.

The flush to Kevin’s face only darkens. His eyes are wide in surprise, as if he can’t believe what just left his mouth, and he looks mortified. His mouth flaps open and shut. Aaron can practically see the cogs in his head turning in a desperate attempt to backpedal, but Aaron refuses to let him take those words back—not when they’ve already buried themselves deep into Aaron’s mind and heart.

“Kevin, I’m a grown ass man. Knock it off.”

“So?” Kevin gives Aaron a thoughtful onceover. “You’re still cute.”

Less out of exasperation and more out of the mortifying embarrassment of being called cute by a man who doesn’t know how much those words mean to him, Aaron places his hand along his own forehead and blocks his view of Kevin.

Kevin says, “Sorry. Should I take it back?”

Aaron shuts his eyes. He promises himself in the morning that he’ll forget—and Kevin, in this state, surely, would forget too.

“No,” he says simply, quietly. “Don’t.”

“No?”

“Stop that. I can hear you smiling.”

Kevin laughs. “Well, does that mean you like it?”

“Charming. Real charming. I can see why you’re so popular.” Aaron throws his hand down to glare at Kevin. Kevin throws his hands up in mock surrender.

“Then, should I take that as a no?”

“…No.” Aaron averts his gaze. He lowers his voice, his voice escaping his lips no louder than a whisper. “I kind of like it. Maybe.”

“You’re seriously giving me some mixed signals.”

“Well, so are you.”

“How?”

Aaron sends a sidelong look Kevin’s way. “You’re fucking with me, right?” he deadpans, and when Kevin continues to give him that flat look, he sighs. “You’re so… touchy lately.”

Kevin waits a beat before he responds, as if in careful contemplation. “Do you hate it?”

It does not escape Aaron’s notice that he didn’t deny it. “Well… No.”

Kevin sits back in his seat and folds his arms. “So I call you cute and you kick up this fuss, only to tell me that you don’t not like it. And now I’m being too touchy, but you don’t really hate it. And I’m the one sending mixed signals?”

Aaron narrows his eyes at him. “Let me finish my thoughts, asshole.”

“Sure, sure. Go for it. Sorry for interrupting.”

“You’re being really touchy, but you weren’t like that with me before. You have to know how that looks to—” Aaron just barely stops himself from saying anything too incriminating. “—to anyone with eyes, right?”

“...And how, exactly, does that look?

He has to be fucking with me, Aaron thinks bitterly, and a part of him can’t help but to wonder if Kevin would be cruel enough to make Aaron blurt out all his stupid feelings just to humiliate him with a rejection. He wouldn’t, Aaron knows, but he can’t wrap his head around why Kevin is pressing him on this topic. It can’t be the alcohol. Kevin doesn’t look nearly as drunk as he did just a while ago.

So why is Kevin being so obtuse right now? Why does he look so serious?

And why is Aaron’s heart beating so fast, so hard, all of a sudden?

“It looks like…” Aaron fights back the urge to cringe at himself. “...Like you like me.”

Kevin’s expression remains fully unbothered. “Yeah? And what’s so ‘mixed’ about that?”

“You know what.”

“Clearly, I don’t if I’m asking you to elaborate.”

“Don’t play dumb.” Aaron sighs. “You’re acting like you like me, but you don’t.” And for some reason, Aaron can’t stop himself from continuing, a frustrated heat rushing to his face, “It’s like you want me to get my hopes up or something because you know that I like you, you dick. Do you know how it feels when someone’s playing with your feelings? Are you having fun?”

“Wait, hold on, shut up. You like me?”

Shit.

Aaron freezes and clamps his lips shut.

“I was never trying to play with your feelings, Aaron.” Kevin’s expression softens a little. “I thought I was being kind of straightforward with how I feel. Kind of surprised that you didn’t say anything sooner. I mean, has it ever occurred to you that maybe I’m acting like I like you because I do?”

Aaron wants to laugh.

He must be caught in some alcohol-fueled delusion, a result of all his pent-up feelings centered around Kevin. There’s no way that he isn’t knocked out at the club or in the back of Andrew’s Maserati, moaning about the sharp, throbbing pain behind his eyes.

Because when has anything this good happened to Aaron?

It’s not possible.

It’s not allowed.

But when Kevin meets his gaze with something painfully earnest and a touch shy, when Kevin inches his hand across the table towards Aaron’s and hooks his warm, index finger around Aaron’s, Aaron realizes that he’s really there, freezing half to death in some dingy Waffle House after spilling his guts in front of the man he’s been wanting for who knows how long.

Aaron’s brain spins in dizzying circles, throws him back and forth between childish exhilaration and pessimistic denial. Without thinking, he parts his lips to try and eke out some kind of coherent thought, a demand for Kevin to stop fucking around, something, literally anything—

A strident buzzing jolts Aaron from his jumbled musings.

Aaron slaps his hand down over Kevin’s phone the second it vibrates and swipes it off the surface of the table, leaving Kevin swatting at the empty space on the table where it once was.

Some old man by the name of Gianni accepted their ride request and would be there in ten minutes. Relief floods Aaron so forcefully that he feels his breath get caught in his throat, like he’s about to drown. Aaron’s so fixated on watching the little car icon slowly drag itself along the pitifully empty map towards where they are that he hardly registers Kevin pawing at his hand.

Aaron turns the phone around for Kevin, and upon seeing the screen, Kevin looks back up at him, visibly relieved.

“God, fucking finally,” Kevin says upon seeing the screen, and Aaron quietly opts not to mention that they never even got to order anything.

The Uber—a red Kia Soul, which, despite not having a car of his own, Aaron thinks is an ugly car—finally pulls into the now crowded lot of Waffle House around four.

Kevin lugs himself to his feet with all the grace of a man finally coming back to life after a vicious night of drinking. He stands at the table, looking down at Aaron, but Aaron thinks that he’d rather become one with the sticky table than stand up.

Sitting in such a confined space with Kevin mere inches away from him has been suffocating. Though Kevin hasn’t said anything more about it, Aaron’s stupid confession has been replaying in his own mind on loop during the wait for their ride.

He wishes Kevin would say something about it. He wishes he could say something himself. But Aaron doesn’t want to risk making things worse somehow so he keeps his mouth shut and lies against the table.

A sudden wave of sleepiness washes over Aaron. With a ride home secured, all the little events of their chaotic night are finally taking a drastic toll on Aaron’s energy. Despite desperately wanting to go home, Aaron can’t bring himself to move.

Kevin sighs. “Get up, Aaron. We’re going home.”

Aaron clenches his eyes shut. “Ugh.” Aaron lightly swats at the air in the vague direction of Kevin. Aaron stiffens in surprise when his arm stops sharply in mid-air, a faint, warm pressure around his forearm. Kevin tugs at his arm.

“Come on.”

Aaron sighs, but he lets Kevin pull him up to his feet with little trouble at all.

Kevin opens the back door for Aaron to climb in. Aaron mumbles a half-assed greeting to the driver, confirming that yes, I’m Aaron M., this is my ride, and flops back against the seat. He throws an arm over his eyes and waits for Kevin to hurry up and get in the passenger seat like he does during these rides so that they can finally, finally go home.

But instead, Kevin files into the car behind him and shuts the door, claiming the seat to Aaron’s right.

Aaron gives him a look, but he doesn’t press him on it.

The soft rumble of the car and the tapping of the rain against the windows make for good white noise despite the sharp turns or the subtle bumps over uneven asphalt. Aaron relaxes against the seat.

He doesn’t realize he’d started dozing off until he hears Kevin’s voice right by his ear.

“Hey. You asleep?”

Aaron shivers at the sound, pleasant and low, but he forces himself to sit upright, instinctively looking around. When he throws a look out the window and the passing buildings don’t look remotely familiar, Aaron turns a flat look to Kevin. “No.”

“Hm. Didn’t look like it.”

“I’m just resting my eyes,” Aaron says with the nonreassuring confidence of a man who is a solid two seconds away from falling back asleep.

“‘Resting your eyes,’” Kevin repeats, unimpressed.

“Uh-huh.”

“You’re going to fall asleep again, aren’t you?” Kevin quirks his lips to one side. “And make me carry you out of the car.”

Aaron peeks open one, tired eye. “What? No. I said I’m just resting my eyes. I’m still awake.”

“Suuuure.”

“Shut up.”

“So you can sleep better?”

“I’ll kill you.”

“Looks like you’re the one who wants to be taken care of now.” Before Aaron can offer another threat, Kevin lets out a small breath through his nostrils, faintly amused and continues, “Well, it’s not like I mind.”

“You say that, but you’re going to bitch about it. Like you always do.”

“I won’t.”

“Promise?”

“Promise.”

Aaron shuts his eyes. “Liar.”

“Whatever.”

“Don’t get offended. We both know complaining is foundational to your being. You wouldn’t be Kevin Day if you were normal about minor inconveniences.”

“Rich coming from you.”

“Kevin Day?” comes a voice from the front of the car. “As in Kevin Day, the Exy player?”

The mere mention of Exy activates that stupid fanatic side of Kevin, seeing that he sits up a little in his seat and leans toward the driver. Aaron internally damns the man driving their car. The car ride is going to feel a lot louder and a lot longer. But worse, now that Kevin is too enraptured about talking about Exy, he’ll be too distracted to bicker with Aaron.

Aaron swallows a disappointed sigh, squeezes his eyes a little tighter, and turns his head away, facing the window.

Aaron drifts to sleep to the familiar sound of Kevin’s voice right beside him, bright with interest and occasionally punctuated with a pretentious scoff or a sagely hum as he prattles on about some Exy-related trivialities with the Uber driver.

And if he wakes at some point during the ride with his head leaning against Kevin’s shoulder, he pretends it’s not happening. And if he scoots closer to fix his posture, to be a little more comfortable against Kevin, if he hears Kevin let out a small, charmed huff, if he feels Kevin tug his jacket on a little tighter over Aaron’s shoulders…

Well, no one else needs to know.

“Aaron.”

Aaron’s expression twitches down into a firm frown, but he cracks an eye open.

“We’re here.” Kevin is unbuckling his seatbelt, then Aaron’s. “Let’s go.”

Aaron, still feeling less like a human and more like a tired, gooey puddle of bones, lets Kevin practically pull him out of the car, a warm hand tentatively secured around his midsection. With brisk farewells exchanged, the Uber wastes very little time pulling away, likely off to rescue another party of exhausted clubbers for the night.

In a tired, wet puddle of limbs, Kevin and Aaron silently stumble their way up the driveway and to the door, almost like weary soldiers climbing out of a trench after the official end of a war.

Right at the doorstep, Aaron stumbles. Aaron holds his breath and fully anticipates to eat shit against the wet concrete—just the cherry on top of an already hellish night—but a strong pair of arms wrap around his waist, and his back soon slots against Kevin’s warm, sturdy chest. Aaron blinks owlishly and cranes his head upward. He manages to catch a fleeting glimpse of relief before Kevin frowns at him.

“What, no ‘thank you’?”

Aaron frowns back. “No thank you.”

“I should have let you trip. I should drop you now, actually.” Kevin’s arms tighten faintly around Aaron, pulling him in closer. “How’d you even manage that?” Kevin mutters.

“Like you didn’t almost slip on the grass too. Anyway, I should be the one asking that. How’d you manage that?”

“Sobered up.” Kevin nods at the door. “Do you have your keys?”

“Yeah.” Aaron feels around his pants. His phone lies heavy in his left pocket, his wallet in his right. He thrusts his hands down in search of that cold, metallic ring with a bright orange, Foxes-themed key strap and a handful of keys.

Aaron pauses when his fingers fail to hook around his keyring.

Aaron takes his phone and his wallet out of his pants and carelessly thrusts them into Kevin’s hands, ignoring his surprised yelp. He pats himself down with the same urgent meticulousness of a TSA agent at the airport. He slides his hands into the pockets as deep as they can go, pinches at the end seams as if it’ll do anything.

When he takes out his hands from his pockets, they come back empty.

His heart drops.

“I don’t have them,” Aaron mumbles, his voice small.

“You’re serious? Like actually serious?”

“Why the hell would I joke about this?” Aaron slumps his shoulders and slouches back against Kevin, looking back up at him.

Kevin runs a hand through his hair. “Okay, fine. It’s fine. Let’s just use mine. We’ll find yours tomorrow.”

Kevin pulls out his own keychain, thankfully saying nothing when Aaron snatches it from him and shoves the key against the lock. The fickle point of the key fights with Aaron’s will, missing the keyhole time and time again.

Aaron, too miserable at this point in the night to properly get frustrated, looks up at Kevin in a silent request for help. Kevin grabs the key from him with a small huff.

It takes Kevin a few tries to get the door unlocked too. Kevin curses under his breath with each time that he misses the keyhole. Aaron wonders what the commotion must sound like from inside the house.

He doesn’t doubt that if Neil knew that Aaron and Kevin are fighting for their lives against some metal, inanimate object, he’d be snickering to himself, wearing some stupid, foxlike smile stretching from ear to ear. Asshole.

When Kevin finally manages to stuff the key into the lock and slide the lock out of place, they hurriedly open the door and practically fall over each other in their desperate attempt to get in.

The house greets them with a waft of warm air, smelling vaguely of greasy pizza and microwaveable popcorn. It’s dark inside, save for a warm lamp sitting in the corner of the living room and the bright TV screen mindlessly playing some show. On the couch, three figures all turn to look at Kevin and Aaron.

“Oh. Welcome home.” Andrew sits up from his spot on the couch. “How’s the weather out there? Didn’t sound too good from inside here.”

“Fuck you.” Aaron kicks his shoes off and points at him with Kevin’s key as he storms into the living room. Now, in the safety and dry warmth of the house, a burst of energy pours into Aaron’s body again, which he wastes no time funneling into fury. “Do you have any idea how fucking awful that was? We couldn’t find an Uber since everyone and their mom wanted to go home at the same time, and when we did get one, it was like forty bucks. For one goddamn fifteen-minute trip. So we were stuck in WaHo for like an hour, and it was stupid cold in there, especially since we were drenched in rain—”

“Wait, Waffle House? That sounds kind of good. I would kill for a waffle right about now,” Nicky muses aloud needlessly, only to get shot with two, near identical glares from Aaron and Kevin. He purses his lips. “What? I’m just saying.”

Andrew shrugs. “Well, you’re home now so who cares?”

“Fuck you,” Aaron reiterates. “We could have gotten kidnapped or something.”

“A little melodramatic, no? Who would want to kidnap you two anyway? Seems like more trouble than it’s worth.”

“The storm nearly took us out,” Aaron continues, firmly ignoring his twin. He looks over his shoulder. “Right, Kevin?”

“Yeah,” Kevin chimes in without a second of hesitation. “We almost caught hypothermia.”

“Unfortunate. And what do you want me to do about that now?”

“I don’t know, Andrew. Maybe showing that you were a little concerned about us would be nice.”

Andrew hums. “But I wasn’t concerned.”

“Yeah, you say that, but you stayed up waiting for us to come home, didn’t you?”

Andrew raises his eyebrows. “Whoa. Who says I was waiting for you two? Nicky wanted to watch something, so Neil and I joined him. It’s those kinds of assumptions that lose you pizza privilege, Aaron.” Andrew tilts his head in the direction of the coffee table, where, sure enough, a pitifully empty pizza box sits opened.

After Waffle House, Aaron still doesn’t think that he can stomach even thinking about food, so he averts his gaze.

Kevin toes out of his shoes and leaves the doorway. “Never do that again,” he says sternly, staring over at Andrew. And after a beat, he adds an emphatic, “Ever.”

“Do what?” asks Andrew innocently. “Do exactly what I said I would? I told you both that I’d leave, and I did. Is that so bad? Do you want me to lie instead? That’s more Neil’s thing, not mine.”

“Hey, why’s Neil catching strays?” Nicky asks, unabashedly amused.

“Yeah, what’d I do?” Neil interjects, sounding far too amused himself.

Andrew doesn’t miss a beat. “Fantastic question, Neil. What haven’t you done?”

“Shut up. All of you.” Aaron bristles. “You guys are the worst.” He looks over at Kevin. “Come on. Let’s just go to bed.”

Aaron turns to plod down the hall toward the bedrooms, keenly aware and pleased about the fact that Kevin is following him. But when he hears a dull thud behind him, he turns around and finds Kevin rubbing his forehead and glaring pointedly at the wall.

Aaron rolls his eyes and wraps his hand around Kevin’s wrist. He takes a step forward and feels an unreasonable amount of satisfaction when Kevin comes along with no complaint or hesitation. Aaron suppresses a pleased smile as best as he can. He tightens his grip a little more.

“I thought you sobered up a little.”

Kevin lets out a small huff. Even without turning to look at him, Aaron can see Kevin sulking. “It’s dark in here.”

“You’ve been in this house enough to know where the bedrooms are.”

“Yeah, but still.”

“Anyone ever tell you that you complain too much?”

“All the time. Won’t stop me from doing it.”

“And you know that it makes you unlikeable, right?”

“Unlikeable?” Kevin echoes idly, then tugs his wrist out of Aaron’s hand.

Aaron’s heart sinks for a split second, and he’s soon met with an inundation of self-pity and guilt. He opens his mouth to backpedal, to tack on some kind of shitty punchline, to change the subject—

But then, only a heartbeat later, Kevin’s hand wraps around Aaron’s.

“But you like me,” Kevin says simply. “Isn’t that what you told me earlier?”

A breath of relief escapes Aaron’s parted lips, and he clenches them shut in what’s decidedly not a pout of any sort.

“Have you always been this full of yourself?”

“Whatever.” Kevin huffs, but he squeezes Aaron’s hand. “Anyway, you know that you stopped walking, right? Are we going to bed or not?”

And suddenly, for the first time in his life, Aaron wishes that the hallway leading to the bedrooms was longer.

The second that they step into Kevin’s room, Kevin wastes no time tossing his wet shirt into the laundry basket while Aaron idles near the door. He hopes it’s not too obvious that he’s staring at the subtle contours of Kevin’s muscles, helplessly following them down his body, but when Kevin turns around, his expression tinted with some sort of thinly veiled mirth, Aaron knows he’s been caught.

“So are you just going to stand there or what?”

“I need to get a shirt from my room.”

“Don’t bother.” Kevin jerks his head toward his closet. “Just borrow one of mine.”

Aaron worms his way out of Kevin’s jacket, letting it fall gracelessly to the ground.

“Hey. Laundry basket.”

Aaron pointedly kicks the jacket a little further away.

“Asshole.”

He plucks one of Kevin’s shirts out of the closet and changes into it. After he pulls his head through the collar of the shirt, he finds Kevin sitting cross-legged in the center of his bed, head craned down towards the laptop he pulled in with him. With Kevin being Kevin, Aaron can already tell that he’s pulling up an old Exy match. The raucous cheering erupting from the speakers not long after only confirms this.

“You’re fucking kidding.”

Kevin’s eyes don’t leave the screen, but he at least has the grace to lower the volume a little. “What?”

Really? Aaron thinks. You’ve got me in your room and you’d rather watch some dumb Exy match?

But he’s no Kevin Day and he’d sooner be caught dead before he says anything like that.

Aaron rolls his eyes and clambers onto the bed in front of Kevin. When Kevin fails to react, Aaron leans forward, sets a hand on the back of the monitor and claps the laptop shut.

Kevin finally drags his gaze up to Aaron, throwing a hand into the air. “Come on. One match.”

“You’re seriously going to subject me to Exy? After everything that happened tonight?”

“Just one match. No—just the first half.”

“‘Just the first half,’ my ass. Go to sleep.”

“You know, I really don’t have to listen to you. This is my room. I can do whatever I want—”

“I’m leaving.”

“Okay, wait, wait.” Kevin wraps his hand around Aaron’s wrist and gently tugs him back, though it’s not like Aaron was actually going to leave in the first place. “Fine. I’ll just watch it in the morning or something so…” His voice softens a touch. “Let’s go to bed.”

Kevin sets aside his laptop and turns out the lamp while Aaron stakes claim on one half of the bed. Aaron melts into the warmth of the plush pillows and practically buries himself in the blankets, but sleep doesn’t take him as quickly as he thought it would.

Instead, Aaron becomes hyper aware of the bed dipping from the weight of Kevin beside him.

Kevin settles into the bed with a comfortable sigh before he rolls over onto his side to face Aaron. “I’m letting you wear my clothes and sleep in my bed. The least you can do is share the blanket.”

Aaron turns his back to Kevin.

Kevin scoffs. “Fine.”

Aaron’s chest fills with giddiness when Kevin scoots forward and wraps his arms and the blanket tight around Aaron. Kevin tucks Aaron against his chest, rests his head on top of Aaron’s.

But just before he seems to settle into bed, Kevin presses his lips to the back of Aaron’s head so gently that Aaron swears he just imagined it.

“G’night.”

Aaron blinks.

He rolls back around to face Kevin.

Kevin raises an eyebrow. “Oh, so now you wanna share?”

“I wanna share something,” Aaron says, and he wriggles out of the blanket, throwing it over Kevin, “but it’s not just the blanket.”

“What are you talking ab—”

Aaron presses a kiss to the underside of Kevin’s jaw, and he shuts up immediately.

And Aaron doesn’t need to say anything else for Kevin to get the clue.

When Aaron ghosts his lips over the little mole on the side of Kevin’s neck like he’d fantasized about countless times before, he slides his hand over Kevin’s bare waist. Aaron’s chest explodes with emotions so intense that he can hardly breathe. Kevin’s skin is so warm, and Aaron wants nothing more than to let his hands explore every inch of his warmth, especially when he lets out that soft, contented hum. Kevin digs his hand in Aaron’s hair and pulls him closer, slipping his knee between both of Aaron’s. Then, he angles his head down and slots their lips together.

Fucking finally, Aaron thinks.

As if he can hear Aaron’s thoughts, Kevin smiles against him.