“Hey,”Draoleanslosertohim,useshisfreehandtosmoothHarry’swildhairbak,andreally,reallyhopesthathedoesn’trememberanyofthisinthem,beauseDraoissittingwaylosertohimthanisstritlyneessary.“It’sover,alright?Youwon.”
Hedoesnotsaywe.Draoisarefultoneversaywe.
“No.”Harrysays,andDraowondersifthisiswhatmadehimdrinksomuhtonight,thememorieshidinginthatfarawaype.“It’sneverover.”
HethinksHarryisjustgoingtogethisbearingsandgotobed,soheleaveshimtohisowndeviesandheadsbakintothesittingroom,whereheouldwaththestepsinaseHarryneedshelpwalkingupthem.It’samistake,though,beauseHarryomesoutwithtwogssesandabottleoffirewhiskey,thegoodstuffthatyouonlybuyifyou’regoingtogiveittosomeoneasagift.
“Youwantone?”
He’salreadyp,andDraowantstosayno,beauseheistiredandHarryhasalreadyhadtoomuhtodrinkandisonlynowstartingtosoberup,andalsobeauselinesandblurringandhefeelsliketheyareonstantlyingerofdivingintounhartedwaters,onesthattheywon’teverbeabletoomebakfrom.
“eon.”
It’sunfair,thewayHarryislookingdownathim,howintimatethisfeels,withthebpiledinhispandthelightinglowandthewayHarryissmilingathim,likeheknows,hasalwaysknown,thatDraoisunabletosaynotohim.ThatheknowshewillnotstopHarryfromgettingwhatitwants,whenitmatters.
“Don’tmakemedrinkalone.”
Harryshakesthedrinkathimalittle,andDraoannotstophimself,justreahesouttotakeitfromhim,likeitisnothisowndeisiontomake.
Anhourter,DraoisalotmoredrunkandHarryisalotmoresober,andtheyarebothsittinginthew-footedbathtubthatDraohadthoughtwassoool,bothfullylothedbutsoakingwet.
Hean’trememberhowtheygothere,butsomewhereinthebakofhismindheknowsthatthisisabadideaandthatheshouldbegettingoutofitwhilehestillan.Whatwilltheydowhenit’stimetogetout?Oriftheyfallasleepandthenwakeuptheminfreezingoldwater,whowthehelltheythoughtthiswasagoodidea?Orwhentheyhadtositarossfromeahotheratthebreakfasttablethemandpretendthateverythingisthesame?
Hedoesn’tknow,buthedoesn’tmove,either,beauseHarryhasenhantedthebubblestofloatandDraoismorphingthemintodifferentshapesatHarry’srequest,beausethey’regrownmenwholiketodothingslikethis.(They’reonlyeighteen.Iseighteengrown?Itfeelslikeit.)They’realsosolosetogetherthatthey’rekneesarepressedupagainsteahother,andsometimesHarrywillathathisarmlikehewantstosaysomethingimportant,butneverdoes.
“Whatarewedoing?”Draodoesn’tknowwhatheisasking,exatly.Ifhemeansthismoment,asinwhyaretheypretendingthisissomethingmateswoulddoiftheyweresober,oronargersale,asinwhyhewasevenhereinthehouseatall,oringeneral,asin,whataretheythinkingaboutthesefeelingsgrowingupbetweenthemlikeflowersthatareonlygoingtobehokedoutbyweeds,beauseheknowsthatHarryisfeelingthemtoo.
“Idon’tknow.”Harryisblindinglyiattimeslikethis,theembodimentofeverythingthatisgood.Heisnotsomeonewhoispreparedtoexpetdisasterateveryturn,evenaftereverythinghehasseen.“Dowehavetoknow?”
Draolikedthesoundofthat,thenotknowing,evenifitsortofterrifiedhim.
“No.”Heidhisarmoutftalongtheedgeofthetub,andafteramomentHarryopiedhim,theirhandslyingloseenoughsotheirfingerstouhed,butjustbarely.“Wedon’t.”
Theymovedfromthebathtubtothebathroomfloor,leaningagainsteahothertostayupright,Harry’sheadonDrao’sshoulder.
“Ireallydon’tthinkIwanttobeanauroranymore.”
Hiswordsbreakupthesilene,andDraouandswhatallthedrinkingwasabout,thelinginess,thenotwantingtobealone.Ithadnothingtodowithhimatall.
(Butitdid.Ithadeverythingtodowithhim,withthebothofthem,andheknowsit.)
“Thendon’t.”Theanswerseemedsosimplewhenhesaiditlikethat,eventhoughheknewitwasanythingbut.Harrywasnotaboywhowasraisedtostopfighting.Helivedhislifeasasoldierforawarhedidn’tknowexistedfromtheverymomenthewasborn.
“Idon’tknowhowtobeanythingelse.”
“Thendon’tbeanything.”Don’tyouthinkyou’vegivenenough?Isn’tittimethatyougotahanetorest,tofigureoutwhatlifeiswhentherearenowolvessnappingatyourhellsandkeepingyourunning?“JustbeHarry.”
“Idon’tknowwhothatis.”
Theonfessionsyoumakewhenyouaredrunkarealwaysthesortofthingsyouwouldneversaywhilesober.That’sthewholeentirepurposeofdrinking,tofindthetruthbehindtheliesyoutellyourself.
“Ido.”It’sonlybeausehewasertainHarrywouldn’trememberthatgrabbedholdofhishandandpressedakisstothebakofhisknukles,stillwthathegotthehanetodothis.Hedoesnotfeellikehedeservesit,still.“I’llhelpyoufindhim.”
Chapter12
Drao
Draowakesupthemonthefloorbehtheouh,wearinglothesthataren’this.HehasafuzzymemoryofstumblingoutofthebathroomintoHarry’sroom,andHarrysayingsomethingaboutnevergettingtohavetheheesy,traditionalkindofsleepover,andthenthetwoofthemtryingtofigureouthowtohaveamovienightwhenHarryistoodrunktoreadanyofthebuttonsandDraohadneverevenseenaDVDpyerbefore.
Itwasagoodnight,evenifhe’ssurethatitwillomebaktobitetheminawayhean’tfigureout.Buthe’sokaywiththat,
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