Chapter Text
Fuck you.
Aiden kept rolling the words over on his tongue as he closed the door of the car. He felt that, as far as last words went, they were rather poetic.
In casual use enough to not be overdone, but strong enough to get his point across. It had resulted in his disownment, but he stood by them, even now, with his pockets near empty and one foot through Harvard's front door.
His father had always been an unreasonable man, but thankfully Aiden was an unreasonable son, and they were bound to make light of that friction enough to blow it at some point. He hadn't expected that explosion to happen at ten in the morning, but, then again, when you've prepared for a scene your whole life, what's the specificity of the time matter?
At least he had time to do something with the rest of the day. Like finding new direction in life, or figure out what he contributes to the world, or find God. All things Aiden could not be bothered to do before lunch.
The wooden floorboards creak under his steps, as if bemoaning with him the timing of the universe. His soles sympathize.
His best friend's sitting at the kitchen counter, staring at the wood, like he's done every day since the funeral. The For Sale sign on the lawn hasn't seemed to deter him from his homegrown habits.
Aiden rests his head against the doorway, and speaks in a soft tone. "Harv?"
Harvard seems to shake himself awake, a long-gone-cold coffee cup in his hand shaking with the motion. He looks up, staring holes through him. Aiden doesn't think he means for the stare to be so harrowing, but it's like he lacks control over such things.
"How was it?"
"Oh," Aiden takes a few steps into the kitchen, boots clicking on the tile. He tries not to notice the absurd, impossible pristine state of the kitchen. He settles his gaze on Harvard's hands. "Uh, best nineteenth birthday ever, I think. So, he did kick me out, and is probably on the way to strike me from the will, which—"
Harvard sputters, but at least he seems to snap out of his stupor. "What?"
"Which means I can officially do whatever the fuck I want forever."
Harvard's gotten halfway up from his seat, one leg extended and the other still hooked in the footrest. He looks much too concerned over the situation; Aiden had taken it rather philosophically. "You're—"
"I want to go out West." Silence falls between them at those words, and Aiden steps up to the counter, leaning against it. Harvard's eyes track him without fear, just confusion swirling in the dark brown. "Kally and Tanner are out there. They said they'd offer us a stay."
Harvard raises an eyebrow at him. "You—"
Aiden pushes forward. "And I want you to come with me."
Harvard's mouth falls open, then tries to close itself, then just bops like a fish out of water. Aiden sighs and digs through the pockets of his coat— bright turquoise, of course stolen from one of his stepmothers— and pulls out his pièce de résistance.
He throws it Harvard's way, who catches the keys with practiced ease. How many times had Aiden told him You drive! and how many times had Harvard smirked that beautiful tilted thing of his, and taken the wheel? He can't remember, can't count them all, but knows each one intimately, the taste of those endless afternoons clear on the back of his teeth.
He turns on his heel before Harvard can ask him about them, and marches out the front door. He knows Harvard will follow from years of experience, and because he hears his quickened patter behind him.
Once outside, the sun blinds him, and he grimaces, searching for his sunglasses. Harvard seems awestruck by the sight before him.
"You took the car."
It makes Aiden smile, funnily enough. "Of course I took the car."
"He's gonna—" An incredulous laugh leaves him, and Aiden swears he hasn't ever heard something so beautiful, as he swivels and leans against the hood to watch Harvard stand in the lawn of his childhood home, arms crossed over his chest. "Aiden, he's gonna freak out, he'll call the cops on you, he'll—"
"I really can't care about any of that right now." Aiden rounded over to the passenger's side. He watched Harvard toy with the keys in his right hand. "And he gifted it to me. Sixteenth birthday; seventh divorce."
Aiden counts the facts out on his fingers, and smirks. "Plus, I don't think he'll notice anyway."
Harvard is staring at the hood of the car, running a hand along it. Aiden watches him with interest, the hesitancy, the clear want, his eyes sparkling with the idea of an adventure like those they'd always spoken of going on. He hasn't seen that shine in his eyes in a long time, and it hits him square in the chest exactly how much he'd missed it.
Harvard looks up at him, and Aiden swears his cheeks flush just by being subject to that gaze.
"I'm going to make a bag," before Aiden can rejoice, Harvard lifts one finger in his direction. "And if I don't change my mind in that time, then yes, I'm in."
Aiden can't help the smile that comes to his lips, and he decides to grip the top of the car door before he does something particularly stupid, like kiss the dimple in Harvard's cheek, and then his mouth, too, for good measure.
He watches Harvard go and waits underneath the summer sun, wrinkling his nose as if he can feel the freckles appearing on his cheeks.
Harvard's mother had died three minutes after his father. That's what the paramedics had said.
He hadn't been surprised by that fact, because his mother had always been the toughest person he'd known. She'd taught him the virtues that were resilience and picking yourself up again and again, and he hated to think of how, when left alone, he'd failed her in both aspects.
He throws another wad of clothing into his bag, then turns to rummage under his bed. A tiny first aid kit, a box of matches, a rosary that's been chipped to hell and back. He tucks it all into an empty side pocket, and then scans the room for anything else he may need, eyes landing on his nightstand.
There's a picture of the three of them propped up there. He's been sleeping in his parent's bed most nights, and so the near unfamiliar sight of it makes his heart stop.
They're on a beach somewhere, and he's maybe eight, small and alien to the person he is now. His mother's laying on a towel, sunglasses on, nose deep in a book, and he and his father are covered in sand beside her, shaping up what had felt like the biggest sandcastle of all time.
Break it. Throw it to the ground and break it.
Harvard reaches out a hand for the frame, and lays it in his lap to carefully undo the clasps on the back of it, fingers barely shaking.
It comes off with surprising ease, and he traces his fingers over the words sharpied on the back; Santa Monica, 1968. He pulls the book sat on his nightstand into his lap— The Buddha of Suburbia— and tucks the photograph halfway through the pages. Then he throws that in with the heap of clothes, too.
By the time he's done and stepping out onto the lawn, Aiden's found his way to sitting on the hood, cigarette loosely hanging from his lips. He's all ridiculously bright coats and tight jeans lately, but it works for him, and Harvard would never say it, but he harbors an inkling of jealousy over it. He also, of course, blushes at the sight of long legs spread in such a way. It's indecent.
Aiden keeps puffing away and staring at the few people hanging around the suburbs this time of day, before noticing him and turning that stare on him. He's produced sunglasses from somewhere, and he pulls them down now, sharp green eyes glinting over the edge of them.
"So?"
Harvard smiles at him. "I'm driving."
Aiden's grin widens enough to make a sparkling, dangerous emotion spark in Harvard's chest— gorgeous as he is, Aiden can make him stupid with a single wink, a look, a touch. He's built his defenses, but even he is, at the end of the day, human.
So when Aiden bounds up to him and throws his arms around him, Harvard can't help but reciprocate, heart skipping a beat or two.
Then Aiden's voice is in his ear, too loud, too high, and still perfect, exclaiming; "Fuck yes!"
Harvard manages to throw his bag into the back, and not regret it instantly, as Aiden takes his spot in the passenger's seat, full of boundless joy. He toys with the property keys in his pocket as he considers what he's going to do for the next few weeks.
No one's contacted him for the sale yet anyway.
He'd not even been sure why he'd wanted to sell the house. It felt too big for just him, but that wasn't it. It was something more, the mere act of thinking about what it could be revealing itself to be a daunting task. He knows it's not a matter of loneliness, or of fear, of being haunted in the middle of the night by intangible things— that were not different shades of guilt, that is. Harvard doesn't believe in ghosts, but he believes a lot of ridiculous things.
He believes in Aiden most of all. Ah, fuck it.
He pulls the car door open and settles into his seat, jamming the keys into the ignition. He gets himself comfortable beside his best friend, who's already sprawled on his side and playing with the radio. The static fills his head comfortably.
He stares at the street of his neighborhood.
There's nothing here, not anymore. The only one that matters sits with him, and is putting on some detestable music station for his own enjoyment.
Harvard has not had the agency of choice for a long time, not ever since life revealed itself capable of diverging from a heavenly plan. No destiny or fate or harmony would drive the world to right its wrongs, or do more rights than wrongs. Not since Murphy's law had taken a seat in his life and lounged about, proving itself over and over again. Sometimes faith was not enough— and then he'd made the mistake of thinking choice wasn't either.
He'd fallen into the trap of thinking that life happened to him, and not because of him. And he also knew he could find it in himself to disprove that flawed logic, because Aiden did daily. He just needs a push, a start, a flame, a dog nipping at his heels, howling for his action.
He sets his hands on the wheel, and starts the car. Aiden's smile flashes in the corner of his eye.
"And our heroes are off."
Harvard's about to start moving, his responding smile rather less radiant, when he pauses abruptly, looking over. "Oh. Happy birthday. I didn't— I forgot to get you a gift, I—"
"Oh, Harv," Aiden's grin softens at the sound of him. Then he leans over and places a sloppy kiss to his cheek. "This is gift enough."
Harvard tries to avoid burning up right then and there, but he feels the ultraviolet coat his skin as they pull away from the only world he's ever really known.