“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.