❝I had to do something
To break into your golden thinking
How many times will I do this
And you'll still believe?❞

Aiden had the loudest nose.

He had a big nose too, not that I minded. What I did mind was hearing every molecule of air he was inhaling and exhaling, like a freaking asthmatic walrus.

We were comfy and snuggled up close enough in the blanket fort for me to feel the warmth radiating off his skin through the layers of blankets and duvets. Hearing Aiden's breathing pick up as the movie raced toward the climax reminded me of Lukas's reactions every time we'd done a film together. Any film, really.

My baby brother loved movie endings.

Talking about him had made me miss him more than I'd realized. Building blanket forts and having movie projectors on the wall of our shared bedroom was our thing growing up, and it was my way of feeling connected to him, even though he was miles away.

I could feel him here in spirit...until Aiden's nose entered the picture.

His breathing was enough to awaken the dead. It was like he was performing an interpretive dance of lung capacity.

At first, I thought maybe he was just having a really intense reaction to the movie. But then, I noticed the telltale sniffles.

Was he crying?

"Wow, Aiden," I whispered, incredulous, "I knew you were into this movie, but I didn't think you were this moved by it."

Aiden jerked back, caught off guard by my comment. I thought I saw the faint flush of embarrassment in the moonlight.

"I... I'm sorry. I think I...yeah, a cold."

What language was he speaking?

"What?"

He shifted a little away from me, as if trying to put some distance between his nose and my audible judgment. I let him off, keeping my sass to myself. Besides, I had a whole other problem to chew on.

As the movie came to a finish, I found it harder and harder to focus. The room was bathed in the softest moonlight filtering through the large bay windows, and the fairy lights I'd set up earlier were gently flickering, casting ethereal shadows on the walls of our makeshift fort. And for whatever reason, I was painfully aware of Aiden's presence.

The film's final moments were intense, with Jake Gyllenhaal's character, Robert Graysmith, racing against time to uncover the identity of the elusive Zodiac Killer. I kept sneaking glances at Aiden, whose incessant sniffing had ceased, as he watched the screen wide-eyed, sitting up straight.

It took me a hot minute to even process the movie had ended. We were well into the credits rolling when I finally reached over and turned off the TV. Darkness enveloped us, spare for the minimal touches of light in the room. All the while, Aiden stared blankly at the screen, not moving still.

Finally, he spoke.

"This is your comfort movie?"

I couldn't help but grin, propping myself up on my elbows and nodding.

"Seek help, Harper. That was..."

"Amazing?"

"No doubt but also far from anything comforting. Christ, that ending was so bleak."

I shrugged slightly.

"It's based on the real case. I thought you liked stuff grounded in reality."

"Landscapes and portrait-based art, sure. Not serial killer thrillers!"

Aiden let out a huff and fell back onto the fort, closer to me again.

I watched him ramble on for a bit about the film but my thoughts kept straying to Lukas. Noticing my silence, Aiden ended his move analysis. He hesitated for a moment before breaking the comfortable silence once more.

"So, do you have to get back to work on your thing?"

"No," I answered quickly.

Mulling over my drafted response to the publisher could wait.

"Okay."

We both lay still in our spots, staring at the ceiling and the dancing silhouettes from outside cars floating past on it.

"You know, Inks," Aiden broke the silence, his voice gentle, "I've learned a thing or two from this movie."

"Not to be a serial killer?"

"Besides that," he muttered. "Sometimes, even if you don't catch the bad guy, you still make a difference. Sometimes, you uncover things about ourselves in your search of something else, and you hold onto it because it matters. No matter what it costs you."

"Wow. You should post that on your Letterboxd review."

He snorted and I smiled to myself. I felt his hand close to mine, his fingertips gently brushing against my own, creating a delicate bridge between us. For a fleeting moment, I wondered what his hand would feel like in mine. The thought crossed my mind and refused to leave.

Turning my head to look at him, I noticed that Aiden had shifted, propping himself on his side, his head resting on a folded arm as he lay sideways to gaze at me. Shadows danced across his face, highlighting the sincerity in his eyes.

He smiled, and it was like the moonlight had found a permanent home in his eyes.

"I got a publishing offer," I blurted out.

The moonlight got brighter.

"Harper, that's great-"

"I don't think I'll take it."

His words died and he looked at me in confusion.

"But why? Isn't that what you've been dreaming of?"

"It was," I admitted. "A part of me still wants that but..."

"But what?" His brows furrowed and he edged in closer. One of his hands reached up and hovered in the air a bit over my shoulder, eyes panicked before he looked at me to see my reaction.

I moved in closer in response and he let out his breath, gently resting his palm on my shoulder, squeezing it in a gesture of friendly reassurance.

And yet my skin tingled.

"The world deserves to see your work beyond what you've written online, Inks."

"No it's..." I took a deep breath, deciding to bare my soul. "My dad was a poet, Aiden. Not a famous one but he wrote and self-published a series of poetry books when he was alive."

"Tell me one."

He traced a circle on the skin of my bared shoulder and it brought one to me.

"Blossoms bloom and fade,
Life's brief song in death's sweet shade,
Eternal embrace."

"A haiku," Aiden said, smiling.

"Yeah," I smiled back. "He always wanted me to be a writer, encouraged my poetry when I was younger. But when I started venturing into writing more adult stories, exploring sexuality and the likes...I felt like that was my calling but I could never bring myself to tell him."

"He never found out?"

I shook my head, feeling the long-forgottens shadows in my heart start to creep back up.

"Is that why you haven't told EJ? Or anyone else, for that matter?"

"Kind of. Megan's the only one who's known and supported me."

Aiden cleared his throat and I smiled.

"And you too, in your own funny little way," I added for good measure, poking him jokingly on the chest. "But now, with this publishing offer for Forbidden Lillies, I'm unsure if I'd want my writing under my real name. I feel like it might overshadow everything else I've accomplished in the business world and well... I don't know if my dad would want that to be my legacy in writing."

Aiden's gaze remained steady and supportive as he grabbed my shoulder, a little firmly now to get my attention.

"Harper, if your writing is about empowering people, you have to take the first step and embrace your identity yourself."

"But-"

"Hear me out," he said and placed a finger over my lips.

I nodded, feeling my heart thrum harder as he refused to drop the finger, instead leaning in a little closer, his voice a soft murmur that carried the weight of total sincerity.

"You have a gift. Your writing creates a safe haven, a place for people to explore themselves without judgment. You're giving them a voice through your words, a voice they might never have found otherwise."

He paused for a moment, his eyes locked with mine, as if to emphasize the depth of his conviction.

"These are things you said when you stood up to me, remember? You know it yourself. That your stories inspire courage, confidence, and self-acceptance. And that's something the world desperately needs. You're changing lives, Harper, and more people should know about it."

Aiden smiled, dropping the finger from my lips and instead cradling the side of my face with his hand, flicking away a rogue tear I'd let escape.

"Your father, I'm sure he would be proud of you, not just for your talent as a writer, but for the real impact your work has on people's lives. If he knew how you're making a difference, he'd be your biggest fan."

"You think?" I asked, hearing my own voice shake.

"I know," Aiden answered with unwavering certainty. " You can make a difference from behind the curtain of ErosInk, but draw it, and you'll see more of the world you've created with the light you're keeping out."

They have the power to not only change worlds but to create new ones.

The echoes of my father's words to me in our last conversation came back. He'd looked at me that early morning, like he knew what I couldn't bring myself to share. And now, Aiden looked at me, mirroring levels of adoration and dare I say, something more, that I'd only ever written about.

"I think you should take the offer, Harper."

My eyes dropped to his lips.

"Yeah?"

He swallowed, the bob of the same Adam's apple I'd day dreamed of punching before now oddly alluring.

"Yeah."

I dragged my eyes back to his, seeing the silver in them transform from a gentle and soothing sanctum to a fortress of withheld desire. His walls were coming back up but I wouldn't let them. When Aiden let go of the side of my face, I stopped him, pressing his hand to my cheek again.

He froze, watching my every move like a man who'd forgotten how to function.

"Are you offering?" I asked, my eyes dropping to his lips again.

"Do you want me to?" he asked back, a whisper so strained it hurt just to hear.

I didn't answer with the words I was master of. I answered in a way I'd long since forgotten, my shy, inexperienced vulnerabilities slipping through the cracks as I reached out to him with a shaky hand, cupping the back of his head and bringing him in close.

And then I kissed him.

I kissed him like he was the air I needed to breathe to survive.

I kissed him in the ways I'd only ever written about-with just as much reckless abandon coupled with a beautiful fragility and rapidly beating soul that I'd never had the joy of feeling before.

And Aiden?

His walls crumbled, his vulnerabilities no longer guarding him but releasing him as he matched my movements with every bit of tenderness I gave, like he'd spent lifetimes practicing for this moment.

His strong arms surrounded me, crushing me into his chest and drawing me closer until there was no space left between us. I felt caged in his embrace, but it was a cage I willingly surrendered to as he held me like I'd disappear into thin air if given the chance.

Aiden's lips melted into mine like hot chocolate sauce on ice cream, clashing in with the taste of cherry wine on the tips of our tongues. As the kiss deepened, Aiden tilted his head, nuzzling my nose with his in an intentionally cute and endearing gesture. It was a subtle, playful move that made my heart flutter.

But that's when he did it again: he sniffed.

The sound was so out of place, so unconsciously loud, and utterly unexpected that I couldn't help it. I burst into laughter against his lips.

The sound shocked him, enough to move back with an audible smack and stare at me with a crazy mess of hair (my fault) and an even crazier expression.

But not enough to let go.

"Harper," he said, his voice insanely deeper than I'd ever heard it before. "Mind telling me why you just laugh-sprayed spit into my mouth?"

"Okay ew," I said, frowning, "That's one way to say it."

"That's exactly what you did."

"I can stick my tongue in your mouth but I can't spit into it?"

Aiden turned a comical level of red and his little soldier stirred.

Kink noted.

"Th-that's besides the point. Why did you laugh?"

"Why do you keep sniffing me?" I chuckled, smacking him on the chest with my palm.

"'cause you smell nice."

It was the most obvious answer. Of course.

"Oh?" I grinned, imitating his earlier snark. "And what's that like?"

Aiden rolled his eyes and pulled me in closer till we were bumping chests again. I thought he was going to kiss me but instead, he dropped his head and traced his nose along the column of my neck.

Fuck.

That did things to Harpette.

"Hmm well..."

"Well?" I repeated, gasping when he pressed his lips gently to the base of my throat.

"You smell like sweat-stained yoga mats and spilled ink on parchment."

"You're such a shitdick," I snapped and started to kick him off me when he laughed, hard and pinned me to the floor.

"Thanks Inks, I try to be."

"Well I think you should-mmph."

Well fuck me.

This shitdick could shut me up anytime.

And he didn't stop in the hours that followed. Not until we both gave in to exhaustion, snoring and breathing in rhythm while tangled together in a jumble of limbs, with our once-sturdy blanket fort now in delightful disarray.

And Aiden's nose? Still wonderfully louder than mine.

I kind of loved it.

____

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Song: The Alcott by The National (feat. Taylor Swift)