FenceStriking Distance - Sarah Rees Brennan Page 0,65
had put the blanket over their heads, and Harvard had told Aiden the most boring story he could think of, all about Harvard Paw’s adventures in the adult world.
“And then Harvard Paw went all the way to the bank,” Harvard would whisper. “And then Harvard Paw said, ‘I know you don’t like politics at the dinner table, dear, but I simply must say…’”
Aiden would always fall asleep quickly when lulled by the sound of that voice.
There was no story tonight, only silence, and Aiden wakeful through many silent hours of the night.
He had a suspicion Harvard was awake, too. The steady and reassuring noise of Harvard’s breathing was missing from the room.
Aiden was very aware of every sound—and every other sensation as well. The sound of sheets, rustling over Harvard as he shifted in the bed next to Aiden’s. His warmth next to Aiden’s, lying close in the night, when that body had been all over Aiden’s at this very door.
What total idiot suggested pushing our beds together? Aiden wondered, then had a vivid and terrible memory of making this suggestion on their first day of the semester.
That night, Aiden slept incredibly badly.
The next day, Aiden woke up with the certain knowledge there were some truths that could not be denied.
He reached out and touched Harvard’s shoulder. Harvard came awake almost at once, sitting up and leaning over Aiden with soft eyes and a softer voice.
“Hey, Aiden. You all right? You can’t be, if you’re awake.”
“I don’t wish to alarm or distress you,” Aiden said in a low but impressive tone. “But I am dying.”
“Okay, so it’s a bad cold.”
Harvard was a fool, but a beautiful fool with gentle hands, so Aiden allowed him to talk nonsense while he laid said hand carefully upon Aiden’s brow.
He frowned. “So, I think you’re running a fever.”
“I may be running a fever now,” Aiden said with dignity, “but I will soon be cold in my grave. Bury me with my best épée. Make sure my hair looks great and everyone weeps that someone so foxy was taken so young. Don’t let Nicholas Cox attend my funeral; he’ll only lower the tone, and removing him will leave space for more weeping suitors.”
Harvard didn’t seem to be paying attention to Aiden’s important instructions about his funeral. Instead he was rising, dressing, and preparing to abandon Aiden to his wretched, lonely death.
When Aiden was little, he used to get sick constantly. It was a nuisance for his dad and the stepmoms, though they mostly made Aiden go to bed and stay there so he didn’t bother anybody with his whining. Except the time the sweet Brazilian singer, the one who had pretended she wanted to adopt him, sat at his bedside and sang to him. That was the only time anybody at home even faked concern.
Aiden used to beg to go to school, even when he was sick, because Harvard would be there, filled with tender concern and bearing juice boxes.
Once he grew up and started going to Kings Row, with Harvard there all the time and much less exposure to slamming doors and the screech of sports car wheels, Aiden got sick far less. He still did occasionally, around the time of important fencing matches or tests. It was always a swift thing, fever running high then vanishing in a day like steam in cold air. It only happened when Aiden was at his most stressed out. Harvard always took good care of him.
Maybe Aiden was stressed now.
Maybe Aiden was consumed by guilt. He should be. He was lying to his best friend in the entire world. He hadn’t exactly lied, he told himself, but he was aware his behavior wasn’t on the up-and-up.
If Harvard knew how Aiden felt about him, Harvard wouldn’t want to lead Aiden on. He would never have suggested the practice dating if he had all the information. Getting Harvard to agree to something by withholding vital knowledge from him felt uncomfortably like a lie.
Aiden didn’t want to act the way his dad did, lining up stepmother number nine while stepmother number eight waited at home. His dad always laughed and said, “What they don’t know won’t hurt them.” He’d never wanted to be like that. What they didn’t know always did hurt them eventually.
He’d just wanted… a memory to live on. A few days to remember, when Harvard had been his and not Neil’s.