Victory parked the car across the street from New Republic. The building was one of the red-faced, cheerless edifices that were all over Milton, grimy from two centuries of smoke. The black-painted steel door stood open, a not terribly pressed bouncer, meaty more than muscular, leaning on it as he looked over the kids filing in. The trio left the car, ducking their heads to keep the rain off their faces.

“I’m going to find my friends,” Cass said as they walked in. “Come near me once all night and I’ll tell Mum you abandoned me.”

Victory and Bard went straight to the bar, poking their way through teenagers in the dim light. It was a familiar place since Bard’s own school days, when he’d lurked near the walls during shows. He had his stool during shows now, the corner of the bar where he rested his notebook, scribbling while bands played. New World smelled less of spilled ale and more of nervous sweat on all-ages nights, and Bard felt like an interloper—overgrown, old at twenty-one, world-wise and weary. 

The barman, recognizing them, shook his head sadly as they approached. “Sorry, mates, no booze tonight. Not even cider.”

They groaned and turned back to the room. A band was setting up on stage, so Bard quickly started scanning the crowd. It wasn’t hard to to spot a shaggy head towering over everyone around him. Victory nudged Bard.

“Go on, then,” she said. “You can find me later.”

Bard wove his way through the crowd, again without any plan of what he’d do or say once he reached Kai. He was drawn to him, as if on the end of a string that Kai was tugging toward himself, some kind of invisible influence he had just by virtue of being himself. Whoever that was. 

Mad, Bard thought. I know nothing about him. He kept his eyes on the back of Kai’s head, watching the way it tilted this way and that. And then Kai twisted around, almost as if he sensed, as if he knew—no, that was mad too. But they met eyes over the tops of heads around them. Kai’s eyes crinkled as he smiled, and Bard’s mouth went dry. And no cider to be had, curse all-ages night.

Kai raised his hand in greeting, but the broad palm could be signaling stop too, Bard thought. Stop before you’ve gone too far to turn back.  Bard began to move forward through the crowd.

He’s... coming to me, he realized in half-terror, half amazement.

And then they were standing face-to-face, Bard having to tip his head back slightly to meet Kai’s eyes.

“Hey,” Kai said. “Cass said you’d be here.”

“Yes, here I am. Erm... as you can see.”

What was it about this lanky boy that made him so damnably tongue-tied and awkward? Kai laughed softly, showing his teeth, and Bard knew exactly what it was.

“C’mon, let’s sit at the bar,” Kai said, nudging Bard with his shoulder.

“They’re not serving drinks tonight,” Bard said.

“I know,” Kai said. “But we can get a soda and talk, right? Or is that too 1950s America? I just came here last summer to live with my uncle. Who is also American.” He grinned. “So sometimes I get stuff here all wrong. But I’d like to talk to you. Is that OK? Too California casual?”

Bard felt as if he would simply collapse into a puddle. “No, no. That’s perfect.”

Victory slinked away, a brief streak of platinum hair and leather jacket hardware, when she saw them coming over, not even giving him a secret smirk or raised eyebrow, to Bard’s immense gratitude. As they covered the short distance between the dance floor and the bar, the boy by his side loped with his head bowed, but he never bumped into anyone. The crowd didn’t so much part for Kai as much as he seemed to anticipate each person’s movement and perfectly time and place his steps. Bard felt carried along in his wake, keeping close by his side. Their hands brushed, and Bard remembered Kai’s around his, the soft palm and callused fingertips. 

The first band started playing as they sat down, a syncopated electric guitar and somewhat hesitant drums, so they put their mouths near the other’s ear as they talked, their words overlaying those that a taut-limbed boy yelped into a microphone. The crowd moved toward the stage, beginning to sway in unison, leaving Kai and Bard to occupy a separate sphere. Kai’s breath on Bard’s neck, his hair brushing his cheek, his long fingers curled around the soda bottle, his feet propped up on the crossbar of the stool, the dark stubble on his chin and the corners of his mouth, those dark pink lips, slightly chapped, so close to Bard’s skin. Was Kai noticing Bard the same way? The boy bowed his head, listening, then bobbed up, smiling, to finish Bard’s sentence, to disturb the air with the breath and reverberation of his laugh, to say “That’s exactly what I was thinking!” with conviction that turned Bard’s spine to jelly. What were they even talking about? It didn’t seem to matter so much as that when they spoke, every word was specifically for the other.

Bard described the Groupthink Gin that he and Victory designed, entranced by the way it made Kai laugh. He threw his head back slightly and put his fingertips on the back of Bard’s hand—just the briefest of contact, but enough to send electricity through Bard’s limbs. Kai told Bard about tourists ignorant of the fog and chill in San Francisco, in their shorts and T-shirts as they waited at the cable car turnstyle, pressing his shoulder against Bard as he mimicked their shivers. 

Does he know what he’s doing? Bard wondered. Perhaps Kai was naive about the effect of his broad-shouldered, warm-fleshed physical presence, but he wielded it like a power-charged object. He was his own Ex Caliber, his own Spear of Destiny. It was enough that Bard could feel from it that Kai wanted Bard to like him as much as Bard wanted Kai to like him. 

Wanted. Want. When was the last time Bard felt like he could just fall into something he wanted? Had he ever? Even when he had swooned into the mouth of the ash-covered boy in his arms as the fire raged behind them and they had clung to each other in the street, that was something different.

The first set was over before they realized it had started. Kai’s head popped up and he turned toward the stage.

“Shit!” he said. “I lost all track—I’m up next.”

“Up?”

“Cass didn’t tell you? That’s why I’m here on all-ages night. I’m playing.”

Of course. The calluses on his fingertips.

Kai gave him a crooked smile. “Don’t go anywhere, yeah? I want to be able to find you after my set.”

Then he trotted off toward the stage, leaving Bard trying not to gape after him. He took to the stage, bowed his head over the microphone and murmured, “I’m Harper,” and his voice like his body, had its own way of working its power—the audience quieted, all faces turned to him.