“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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