Archive of Our Own

Chapter Text

Aman had a thing about kitchens. He had some strange spiritual attunement with kitchens he'd never entered before, knowing exactly where everything was. He looked into the fridge, and even if the ingredients were only a week old bag of oranges and a box of his mother's sambar Rohit had forgotten he had, somehow in the next hour there would be a beautiful meal set out on his table. Aman simply loved cooking, was great at cooking, and took over the cooking the same way he took over everything-- like Lord Krishna running circles around everyone else. Rohit pillowed his head on his arms while he watched Aman work in Rohit's own kitchen like he owned it. He felt like a kid, waiting for dinner to be served impatiently. The smell was already divine and the waiting was a special torture. Or it would have been if not for the other oddly pleasing special torture of watching Aman move from stove to cupboards to plates like a trained dancer. When he was finally satisfied, he picked up the steaming pot of pasta and brought it to the table in front of Rohit. Without looking, he slapped Rohit's hand away when he predictably reached for it. Rohit made a wounded noise and cradled his wrist while Aman gave him an unimpressed look. There was a little dusting of flour on his high cheekbone. Rohit felt irrepressibly endeared by him. His stupid, annoying, mischievous, unstoppable, ridiculous, hilarious best friend who owned every situation he entered with seemingly no effort. He could have been a cult leader but yet chose to use his powers to bring broken families together and help hopeless people like him find love. 

"You're looking gooey," Aman informed him as he finished setting up their plates and finally let himself sit down at the table. 

Rohit gave him a little tap on the arm. 

"Can't I just be happy to have a wonderful friend who makes me such nice food."

"You're only happy because without me you'd be starving to death."

"Not true, Kantaben would take care of me."

"Want me to call her instead?"

"God, no. Your cooking is much better. And you're nicer to look at."

"I'll tell her you said that."

"But you're so much meaner, too."

Aman grinned, showing off his perfect flash of teeth and sweet dimples. Rohit felt his chest lighten like it did whenever he made Aman smile. Sometimes he wasn't sure what someone like Aman, whose cool and effortless control Rohit so envied, was doing with him mundane day after mundane day. It was nice to know that their friendship was something special to him too. Happily tucking in to his, predictably, delicious dinner Rohit allowed himself a brief moment to appreciate bachelor life and worry if he would have to eat Naina's cooking for every dinner from now on. Surely, they could still go out? Rohit could afford it. Naina, bless her heart and truly he loved her with everything in him, had inherited her mother's cooking skills with a good dash of her own anger and impatience. She burned toast. 

"You ever thought about becoming a personal chef?"

"Don't talk with your mouth full," Aman said with his mouth full. 

Rohit smacked his arm again.

"I'm serious, you should just live here after Naina moves in. I'll pay you well."

Aman shook his head, "No, no, no, no, I've seen how this goes. The wife and the cook always end up arguing and I won't ruin my friendship with Naina so that you can save yourself."

Rohit whined, "You've had her cooking, you know I won't make it a month without being poisoned."

"Better you than me."

There was a momentary awkward pause, as they both remembered how close they had been to being in each other's position, how if Naina had her way Aman really would be the one worrying about their married life. He insisted that Rohit was Naina's real choice, that Aman himself had been a silly fantasy and Rohit was the one she truly loved. Naina had told him much the same, her love for Rohit unquestionable, no matter what had happened in the past. Maybe he should have been angrier at Aman, more jealous, but he couldn't bring himself to hate the man. Aman had been the one to help him woo Naina anyway. He had been nothing but supportive and happy for them. Still, it was awkward. Had he really just suggested that Aman live with them? Wasn't that too close to home? Literally?

Aman cleared his throat. 

"Besides," he said, pushing the sauce around on his plate, "I wouldn't work in this pathetic kitchen of yours."

"I'll renovate it," Rohit retorted desperately, and he couldn't tell where the joke ended and the reality began.

Aman was still shaking his head. 

"The uniform is too terrible."

Rohit eyed the apron Aman was still wearing. It was red with polka dots. Rohit had bought it when he moved to the apartment. He had later felt embarrassed for not picking a more masculine apron-- there were solid black ones, he couldn't have gotten one of those?-- but the bright colors had caught his eye. His father would certainly make fun of him for it. He doubted that was what Aman minded, though. 

"I'll buy you a nice, clean, new one. With frills. Lace. French."

Aman rested his chin coquettishly on his palm and batted his long eyelashes at him, pretending to swoon. 

"You'll need to be nice and clean too, though," he tsked, reaching over and finally rubbing off the flour from Aman's cheek. 

His skin was warmer than Rohit had expected. He rested his hand on Aman's face, longer than he needed to, feeling the curve of his cheek and jaw. He was up close with Aman's soft brown eyes now. He really was unfairly pretty. No wonder Naina had fallen for him. He wondered what fight he and his wife must have had. Surely something really awful, if Aman wasn't able to convince her back with those puppy eyes and his silver tongue. Or maybe she was as stubborn as he was charming, like Naina. He abruptly removed his hand, realizing he had practically been cradling his friend's face. 

Aman blinked, as if coming out of a daze. Rohit didn't know what to say to break the silence, but Aman was, as always, ahead of him. 

"Well, now my friendship with Naina will definitely be ruined."

A startled laugh burst from Rohit, the one Aman so frequently brought out of him, and whatever tension had been in the room eased. They were back to normal again. 

Whatever Rohit was feeling flipping inside his stomach was nothing. They were just joking around, as always, and Rohit was worrying about things more than he should. 

******************

Naina sighed heavily as she flopped onto the couch, immediately curling around Rohit as he put his arm around her. This close intimacy in the cosy confines of her family living room made him feel like a giddy little girl. It was ridiculous. He kissed the top of her head, her hair still smelling of her strawberry shampoo. 

"Rough day?"

She grunted, a puff of air rustling her hair and making Rohit smile, "Class was fine, it's your parents."

Rohit's smile vanished. 

"My parents?"

She sat up, eyes fiery behind her glasses, pushing a finger into his chest, "Yes, your parents, calling me a hundred times a day, when they know I'm busy, to ask if I want these flowers for the wedding or those flowers. I don't care! I never even thought about flowers!"

Rohit raised two placating palms in vain. 

"I don't know why they need to ask me in the first place!" Naina continued like a locomotive, "Oh, the bride should be involved in every aspect of the function, it's the happiest day of her life after all. I'm not going to have a life if they keep torturing me like this!"

She frowned, folded her arms, and collapsed back against Rohit's chest. It was, unfortunately, adorable. 

He let her marinate for a few minutes before beginning, "Both my family and yours have wedding planners. Just redirect to them instead of answering questions yourself."

"If they have a planner, I don't know why they're so involved! Jobless people..."

Rohit sighed, "They can be a little... overexcited, na? I honestly won't even blame you if you block their number. Whatever needs to be done, the planners will do. Neither you, me, nor my cursed parents need to be involved."

Naina nodded abstractly, mollified for the moment. Then her head snapped up. 

"My family has a planner? Who is this? Someone Dadi hired? Oh, she'll make a mess of it."

Rohit barely contained his laughter, but he certainly knew better than to laugh at Naina when she looked like that.

"Naina, darling, we both very well know who's handling the bridal side." 

Naina blinked at him, confused. 

Rohit sighed. 

"Who's arranging the singing?"

"Well, Aman, but only because Dadi can't hold a tune without help-"

"Who picked out the jewelery?"

"Aman, but just because my mother can't make a decision-"

"And who made sure we got over ourselves and got together in the first place?"

Naina sighed, "Aman."

"You know where he is right now?"

"No clue, but I can't imagine I'll like the answer."

"He's helping Sweetu and her sister pick out wedding outfits."

Naina sighed again as Rohit finally permitted himself to laugh. 

"Fine! You win! Aman Mathur is planning our wedding."

Rohit continued laughing. 

"It's nice of him," Naina finally conceded. 

Rohit shook his head, "He just doesn't trust anybody but himself to make everything perfect. I've heard he and the planner my parents hired have already had a tiff."

"Of course they have. Well, I'm sure Aman will get his way."

"Lord, with the both of you, I think even we Gujus will have to give it up."

Naina batted him playfully on the arm. He caught her delicate hand to brush a kiss across her fighter's knuckles. They held hands in companionable silence for a while, hearing Naina's siblings playing upstairs. Her family liked him well enough, her mother being especially considerate, but there was still a distance that he was trying to bridge. He couldn't expect to become part of the family immediately, but he hoped it would at least be smoother after marriage. Gia, in particular, seemed to enjoy glaring at him. It was adorable, true, but also somewhat concerning. She had been stabbing her mashed potatoes with particular zeal tonight, maintaining eye contact. He was considering relating this to his soon-to-be wife, but he noticed the solemn look on her face and bit his tongue. 

"I hope things work out," Naina said softly.

At Rohit's questioning look, she added, "I mean between Aman and his wife. He's doing so much for us, has done so much for us, and I just hope he finds happiness for himself too."

He squeezed her hand reassuringly. 

"Has he...has he told you anything about what happened between them?" she asked. 

Rohit shook his head, "You probably know more than me. I just know they fought and he's still trying to convince her to come back. If it's been this long, though, I'm not sure how well it can go. It doesn't seem like they're reconciling anytime soon."

Naina shook her head, "What could you possibly fight about to be this mad for so long? And if it's that bad, then why don't they just get a divorce?"

"You have met Aman, right? The eternal optimist. If he didn't give up on us, I doubt he would give up on someone-"

He cut himself off before he could say 'someone he actually loves.' What an awful thing to say to Naina, just when she and Aman had repaired their friendship after the awkwardness of her unreciprocated love. And it made Rohit feel a certain kind of queasy, too. Sure they weren't married to the man, but they loved him and he loved them. The relationship between the three of them was certainly stronger than whatever the relationship between Aman and his wife was right now. 

"Someone he himself is married to," Rohit finished lamely. 

Naina hummed, nestled her face into his neck and mumbled so quietly Rohit felt it more than he heard it, "I just want all three of us to be happy, together."

Rohit brushed back her soft hair.

"Soon," he promised.

*******************

Priya had always been a driven person, even as a little girl. Her dolls did not simply go shopping, they had career goals and thriving professional relationships. Her stuffed animals got medical examinations and debt. She did not play games. The walls of her house were covered in her certificates and medals and trophies. Priya never got a B when she knew she could get an A. That was how her father had raised her-- aim as high as you can or you'll never know what you can truly reach. She was the top student in her school and then the top student in her college. Even as a freshman, she knew she was going to graduate with honors. She had everything except friends. She had never wanted them. She had never needed them. When she had to find a project partner for her required English class, she had simply looked around for the other people who didn't know anybody in this class. She startled. A boy was staring right at her, all smiles. He slung his bag off his chair and walked over to the empty seat next to her, collapsing into it. He reached out a hand to shake, still grinning and looking at her as if they already knew each other. They didn't. She would remember.

"Hi, I'm Aman."

That was how it started. She worked with him on the project, and despite how much he talked and insisted on asking her irrelevant questions, he was a good enough partner. That, she assumed, would be that. He had plenty of friends, as she noted when they had tried to work in the library and he had greeted practically everyone who had walked by. He was chatty and popular and funny-- in short, someone who didn't take class that seriously. He lived in a completely different world than Priya. 

He obviously disagreed. 

"What are you doing here?" she hissed, opening the door to her dorm, her hair a frizzy mess, at an unendurably early time on a Sunday morning. 

Aman grinned and waved at her, as bright-eyed and excitable as ever. Like a dog asking to be taken for a walk. 

"Good morning, Priya."

"If you say so."

"Here, I got this for you."

He held out a little pastry box that she hadn't noticed him holding behind his back. She took it suspiciously. 

He rolled his eyes, "A rubber snake isn't going to pop out."

"Hush," she admonished him, instinctively. 

He obeyed as she slowly unwrapped the delicate ribbon, not wanting to tear it. When she opened the box she found a cinnamon roll, so beautifully made and dusted with powdered sugar that she almost wanted to display it rather than eat it. Almost.

When she looked up, Aman was holding out a cup. 

"Coffee," he said, like he was trying to hypnotize her, "I know what you're like."

She snatched it from him. 

"Were where you even keeping that? And how did you know..."

"You mentioned you loved the cinnamon rolls from that bakery. The coffee I assumed from the amount you chug during class. Anyway, I was there today and thought of you."

She was momentarily speechless.

"Aman....thank you. That's very kind. You didn't have to."

He shook his head like an adamant child. 

"I wanted to. No big deal. Sorry I woke you, but I hope this good morning makes up for it?"

He was grinning because he knew the answer, the brat. 

She couldn't help her smile.

"Fine. Yes, Aman, you made it a very good morning. Thank you very much."

He grinned wider. 

"Great! God, what's the time, I'm already late. I'll see you later, Priya!"

He turned abruptly after checking his watch and jogged down the stairs, waving to her behind his back. She couldn't help but laugh. What on earth could he be late for at this hour? Who knew with Aman. He always seemed to be involved in everything. She smiled down at her pastry, the aroma itself intoxicating, and wondered why on earth he was trying to be involved with her. 

"Aman," she asked, poking at her biriyani, "do you think this is a date?" 

Aman scrunched up his nose across the table from her. 

"I sure hope not. It would be like going on a date with my sister."

She grinned down at the table. Thank god he didn't want something from her she couldn't give. The idea of letting him down and losing his company made her more upset than she expected. She couldn't go back to spending all her time with her biology textbooks. What would she do without his coffee deliveries? Him distracting her when she was studying so she would get some fresh air and eat something. Him taking her to loud clubs and dancing with her till they were too sore to walk. Him making her meet his friends, some of whom were so funny and pretty and nice that it made her feel like she was living a life she didn't deserve. Sure her future as a top doctor saving lives was important, but what about her present? What about her own life? It would be incomplete without Aman. 

"You're my first friend, you know?" she informed him. 

Aman blinked owlishly up at her. 

"Well, you're starting with the very best. It's all going to be downhill from here."

She flicked a piece of rice at him and he acted like he had received a deadly wound to the eyeball. 

"This how you're going to treat all your friends?"

"Maybe," she said, shrugging, "I'm more concerned about how I should treat my boyfriend."

"Ohhhh," said Aman, immediately dropping his act and leaning over to her, ready to gossip, "you want a boyfriend now? You'll need my help." 

It was really unfortunate the way Aman had made her realize just how lonely she had been-- and how unnecessarily. She wanted games, she wanted fun, she wanted a college experience with drinks and hook-ups and everything. It was embarrassing.

She huffed, "What would I need your help for."

He waved his hand around, "You're too smart and beautiful for your own good. You start acting interested, then all the guys in the college are going to try to date you. Some of them are real bums. You need to let me asses them first."

She laughed. It was hard to be embarrassed around Aman. He was always so much more ridiculous. 

"Priya! I'm being serious!"

"That's a first."

"Come on, you're like a sister to me, I said. Let me take care of you." 

The tenderness of the statement took her by surprise. Aman continued to eat a piece of chicken like it was a perfectly casual thing to say. She stared at him for a moment. His hair was getting too long, it covered his eyes. 

Priya sighed, as if it was a huge burden on her, "Alright, Aman, you can help me pick my dates, ok?"

He immediately perked up. 

"Yes! So, what are you looking for? Tall? Fit? How fit? How hairy?" 

She pushed his face away with her hand. 

"Let me think, aiyoo you're worse than a puppy. He doesn't have to be that tall. But he needs to be kind and sweet. Patient enough to deal with my problems. Smart would be good...but not too smart. Strong, for sure."

"Hmmm... we'll find you some options. But listen Priya, you're only going to go for the best of the best, alright? You're an absolute catch and you better know it. I won't tolerate anything less."

She felt tender again. She supposed friends said sweet things like that to each other, but she didn't know how to take a compliment from someone who wasn't a teacher or family member talking about her report card.

"Well, what about you?" she redirected. 

"What about me?" 

"Your dates? I don't trust you to have discerning taste in girls, at all. Don't I need to make sure my little brother doesn't get himself scammed?"

He grinned at her, all dimples. 

"I have wonderful taste in girls. I've loved all the ones I've been with."

"If that's true, then why have you guys broken up every time?"

"Well, most of the time we weren't really dating in the first place." 

"And you're saying you loved them?"

"Of course."

Priya stared at him. 

"How?" 

"Easily. I gave them something of myself, and they gave me something of themselves. Isn't that love?  I don't think every love has to end in marriage. I love all the girls I've been with and I love all my friends. I even love you, Priya, though you're so mean and keep throwing things at me."

He ducked as she chucked a chicken bone at him. She missed. 

"You know, Aman, I don't think everybody else sees it that way."

"Well, they should," he said simply, coming back up over the table, brimming with careless confidence, "if you don't love the people around you, there's no use. And if you can't admit it, then you're even more useless."

She grinned, "So boys talk like this often when us girls aren't around?" 

He shrugged, "It's mostly sniffing each other's pits."

"Gross. Did not need to know that."

"I only speak the truth."

"Except when you're crossing your fingers."

"That's the exception! Look," he held his hands up, fingers spread, "I love you, Priya."

She sighed, long-suffering, instantly recognizable to older sisters everywhere though she didn't know it. 

"Love you too, Aman."

*************** 

It was in the mall of all places that his life came crashing down around him. His first feeling was of such immense confusion and anger and hurt that he could barely bring himself to look at Aman when he came to his apartment. The apartment that might as well have been Aman's too for how much time he spent there, how often he slept over, how much stuff he had left laying around the place. That entire time, he had been lying to Rohit. That entire time, he had been in love with Naina. That entire time, he had been dying and hadn't bothered telling Rohit. He had been pacing his apartment back and forth since Aman had left, feeling trapped and insane. He should go find Naina. He should absolutely not find Naina. They must be together, now that she knew the truth. She wouldn't have let him go a second time. Aman had been so insistent though...god, they were both so stubborn. Stubborn, feisty, and with smiles that could power the entire city of New York. Rohit pressed the heels of his palms into his eyes. The two of them were in his head, embracing, holding each other. Their perfect smiles next to each other, foreheads pressed together. Kissing, touching, doing more. He had to stop thinking about this, but he didn't want to. He quickened his pace. The image was torturous, only it wasn't in a way he disliked. It was Aman in the kitchen. It was Naina in the park. The idea of his two favorite people, his two best friends, wrapped up in each other, murmuring sweet nothings made his heart beat faster, stoked a fire in his belly, quickened his breath. Then he thought of himself there, too. His feet smacked against the tile floor. He thought of himself kissing Naina, making her groan, while Aman watched. He imagined Aman touching him, stroking his back, while he pinned Naina. He imagined disengaging, turning his head, kissing Aman, feeling his lips. Would it be scratchier, with his stubble? How would Aman kiss? Gentle or rough or both? 

He caught himself at the balcony railing, breathing heavily, staring unseeing into the skyline. Oh, there was no denying it now. He felt something for Aman. Beyond friendship. Beyond just simple lust, too. He thought of him the same way he thought about Naina. He was in love with Aman Mathur. He was in love with Aman Mathur and Naina Kapoor. And they were in love with each other too, he was sure of it. Only, of course, that he and Naina were soon to be married, while Aman was soon to be dead. Even the idea made his gut lurch. Aman was everything lively and fun and energetic in the world. He was a tornado of a person, in constant motion. It was inconceivable that he could be anything weak or sickly-- but he was. He was sick and he hadn't told anybody and he didn't believe he deserved love because of the heartbreak he would leave behind. God, Rohit had to talk to someone who would understand the storm of things he was feeling. He had to find his fiancee, wherever she may be and whoever would be with her. 

He ended up finding Naina in her room, lying on top of her covers. He walked over, and collapsed next to her. He stared at the ceiling, at faded glow-in-the-dark stars. There was something about a childhood bedroom. When he had first been allowed to see it, to briefly borrow a notebook, he felt like he had learned more about Naina in a simple glimpse than he had in the months he'd known her. He reached out and took her hand, squeezed. She turned her face to him, all puffy and red-eyed. Her grief broke his heart and for a moment all he could feel was unmitigated rage at the injustice of the world. How could he live in a world that made Naina Kapoor cry? He pushed that useless anger away and pulled her towards him instead. She sniffled into his shirt. 

"He came to see you?"

Rohit nodded. 

"He's dying, Rohit."

"I know."

"He kept saying he doesn't love me, doesn't love anyone, but I know that's not true. It's Aman. He loves too much, that's his problem."

"I know. And what's our problem?"

She laughed, a bitter little sound, "He is, of course. What can I do, when I love him so much, but he doesn't want me to? He thinks he can spare me the heartbreak. It's already too late. Whether he confesses to me or not, whether we get married or not, I love him. And what'll I do when he..."

She looked up into his face, as if suddenly realizing that it wasn't just her best friend Rohit she was pouring her heart out to, but her soon-to-be husband Rohit. She tightened her grip on his shirt. 

"Please, try to understand, Rohit. I love you, I promise I do. It wasn't like I was settling. It's just that I love him, too. Isn't that possible, to love two people at the same time, the same amount? Oh, I'm ruining everything."

Rohit cradled her face, "Naina, Naina, darling, you're not ruining anything. I understand. I mean, I really understand. It is possible to love two people at the same time. I know." 

Naina's watery eyes bore into his own. 

"You know?"

He nodded. 

They breathed the same air, encased in their own bubble. 

Naina reached out to cover his hands with her own. 

"You know," she repeated, "you know what I mean when I say I don't know how to live without him." 

Rohit held her impossibly closer. 

"I'll talk to him. I'll tell him how I...how I feel. You don't have to choose at all Naina, you don't. I'll figure out a way for all of us to be together, for whatever time we have." 

*************

Rohit shuffled on his feet in the doorway. It was odd to be on this side of the street, Naina's house at his back. Aman usually came to his place. Or was at Naina's place. Or Sweetu and her sister's place. The man was so at home everywhere that it was hard to believe he had a real, actual home. Aman felt like such a fae creature that it was still difficult for Rohit's brain to compute that he was flesh and blood. Capable of death. Capable of a great many complexities Rohit had never considered. It embarrassed him how little he actually knew about the facts of Aman's life. How expertly he had deflected and how stupidly Rohit had fallen for it. Aman's mother answered the door. She looked tried, as she usually did, but kind, and she smiled when she saw him. 

"Hello, Rohit, good afternoon. I'm sorry to say Aman isn't feeling the best, so if you--"

"I know," he interrupted. 

"You...ah. You know."

She peered knowingly up at him, some weight lifting from her shoulders, but her face seemed to age before his eyes. He had always thought Aman's mother was a serene, calm, oddly melancholic woman. She was kind and sweet in spades, but far less sustainable than his own loud, chatty mother. It had seemed funny that she would raise such a boisterous son as Aman, but Rohit had thought maybe he took after his father. Aman never mentioned his father at all, and Rohit did not pry. Now, he was wishing he had. Now, he thought it a wonder that the woman in front of him was as strong as she was, as solid as she was, as courteous as she was. How was anyone able to conduct polite conversation and listen to the troubles of others when their son was dying? 

"I know, aunty. And I am so, so sorry. Truly. I can't imagine what you're going through."

She nodded, opening the door further to let him inside, and he wondered how often she had heard those words. Empty condolences, no matter that Rohit meant it. 

"Thank you, Rohit. I'm sorry...I know Aman didn't want you to know. I'm sorry he kept it from you. And I'm sorry you know, at the same time. It was nice pretending, for a little bit." 

She smiled weakly at him. 

"I understand, aunty. Would I be able to speak with him? How...he didn't look that good when I last saw him. How is he?"

He felt pangs of guilt pierce his chest thinking about their last meeting. Rohit shouting his heart out on his terrace. Aman looking ready to collapse, as weak as Rohit had ever seen him, far weaker than Rohit had ever imagined him to be. And he had decided then was the time to lay into the man. Because he was angry, upset, furious, grieving, and so in love and so in denial he didn't know what to do with himself. He had to apologize. He had to tell him. 

Aman's mother somehow composed herself, set her face rigidly, "He's resting in his room. It'll take a few days before he can get off bed rest. I'll let him know you're here. Please take a seat, help yourself. You're hardly a guest, Rohit dear."

She smiled that ephemeral, rippling smile at him again before going upstairs. Rohit wondered what Aman would say. He certainly didn't want to see Rohit again, but somehow he was sure his mother would convince him. She seemed to be one of the few people he listened to, as soft and quiet as she was. He still had no idea what he would say. Hey Aman, sorry for yelling at you, it's just that I realized I'm in love with you. Hey Aman, salaa, did you really spend so much time helping other people that you never once thought about asking for help yourself? Hey Aman, I think you're so selfless that it hurts me, because your self is a part of me. Hey Aman, you made Naina cry. Hey Aman, if you didn't want to hurt anybody, you should have been less easy to love. He took a deep breath. He pressed the heels of his palms to his eyes and couldn't help but laugh ruefully at himself. He had given a number of ill-advised, badly phrased love confessions in his time, but this one took the cake. He had no idea what he was doing. Bizarrely, he wished he could ask Aman for help. Six days, get the boy. Yeah, right.

He had been so distracted that he missed Aman's mother coming back downstairs. He looked up when she was in front of him. 

"You can go up. His room's the first one on the right. He's being stubborn, but I'm sure you know how to manage that."

So, she had fought him and won after all. God, he owed her his life. 

He smiled, "Thank you, aunty." 

On impulse, he leaned down and kissed her cheek before practically running up the stairs. He felt like a little boy finally allowed to see his best friend after being punished. There was something about Aman that made him feel like he had when he was a kid-- the new boy at school or down the street the most important person in the world, the person he had to impress even if it meant making an utter fool of himself, the person whose laughs he counted, the person he would have died for without even understanding what it meant. Rohit opened the door. Aman was, indeed, in bed. He had a bent old paperback in his hand, thoroughly abused. There was a stack of other books next to him. Snacks and water on the side table, next to open tablet packets. The room was practically empty aside from that, the wardrobe and a single armchair, nothing on the walls. It felt sterile and primed for loss, like a hospital room. Aman himself looked sallow, eyes sunken, hair sweaty and limp across his forehead. He looked at Rohit like he was prepared for a fight. 

"You going to hover in the doorway all day or are you going to sit down?"

Rohit obediently sat down. 

He didn't know where to begin, but it didn't seem like Aman was going to start anytime soon. 

"I'm sorry," he burst out, "for how I acted yesterday. It wasn't very nice. I was just...hurt. And upset. I'm sorry."

He looked up at Aman, who was leaning against his pillows, looking right back at Rohit with something so deeply exhausted in his face that Rohit felt immediately bad for doing this. For coming here and forcing Aman into talking to him, unpacking everything that they clearly weren't fully ready to unpack. He should have left him alone, given him time to recover at least. He just didn't know how much time they had. His entire life felt so urgent now. Was this how Aman always felt? Like life was actively slipping through his fingers? It was awful. Just a few days ago he had been wondering what married life would be like, his own house, his and Naina's children, their family. Now, he thought about fitting everything he ever had to say within the next hour. 

Aman sighed. 

"I should be the one apologizing. I didn't mean to hurt you. That was the last thing I wanted. I thought I was making the right choice. But it upset both of you, anyway, and I'm sorry. I'm very sorry about that."

"Why didn't you just tell me? Why didn't you tell Naina?" 

Aman's mouth tilted up at the corners, a shadow of his usual bright smile. 

"Because of the way you're sitting there, looking at me right now. Like as if I'm already dead. Because I didn't want you to be sad. Because I wanted to be your friend and I wanted to help you both, and you wouldn't let me if you knew. Because Naina has seen enough death for a lifetime and I was planning on leaving, without her or you or anybody having to know. Because it doesn't matter." 

"How can you say it doesn't matter? It's your life!" 

"It's almost over. I just wanted to do at least one good thing with it. Please tell me I haven't ruined it. Naina loves you, alright? I promise you won't be competing with me, ghost or otherwise. She really, really loves you. As much as you love her."

Rohit took Aman's hands in his own. His voice was weak, like he was holding back tears, and the thought made Rohit's heart ache. He felt so fond and furious and concerned and confused. 

"Aman, you are the good thing. You're every good thing, for me. You've done so much for us, for all of us. For Naina's family. And for me. I know Naina loves me, and yes I love her too. You can't ruin that, you're the one that helped us see it."

Aman took a shaky breath. "Alright," he said, squeezing Rohit's hands back weakly, "okay, I'm glad. I'm looking forward to the wedding. "

Rohit chuckled, "No wonder, you're practically in charge of it." 

Aman laughed, but it quickly turned into coughing. It sounded like he was tearing his throat apart. Rohit rushed to hand him the glass of water. After a few sips, he composed himself. 

"Sorry. See, it's no fun being with a sick person."

Some of that old Aman humor was returning to his face, but it only served to make Rohit's heart twist. None of this was funny. 

"It's different when the sick person is you."

"Even I can't make it fun, Rohit, I'm sorry to say. My powers have their limits."

"I meant," Rohit enunciated, looking into Aman's eyes like he could somehow transmit his feelings through eye contact alone, "that I don't care if it's fun or not if it's you. I want to be there, idiot."

Aman blinked and seemed at a loss for words. 

He had finally found the thing that shut Aman Mathur up, and it was telling him he wasn't a burden. Go figure. 

"Your mother was really nice to me," Rohit continued, just to break the silence, and he wished he could bite his own tongue off when he heard how stupid he sounded. 

Aman smirked at him. 

"She's nice to a lot of people." 

"She kept your secret."

"Yes. She's nice to me most of all. She doesn't like me lying, and wants me to be happy still, but I think she kind of liked it."

"Liked it?"

Aman shrugged the best he could propped on the pillows. 

"It's nice not being the widow with the only, unfortunately dying, son everywhere you go. You can just be."

Rohit felt immediately embarrassed. 

"Oh. Yeah, that makes sense. I didn't know she was a widow. I'm sorry."

"Nothing to apologize for."

"She's such a quiet, shy person. I thought you must take after your dad. When did he...?"

Aman gave him another bare smile, edged with irony, "Years ago. I was 16. He had a heart disease."

Aman tapped his own chest, "I do take after him."

"Oh." Rohit said, because he was an idiot who kept putting his foot in his own mouth. At least he could keep it there and shut up. 

Aman rolled his eyes. 

"No point in feeling awkward now, salaa. Ask whatever the hell you want. I can't hide anything anymore."

Rohit chewed his lip before giving in. Well, if he had permission, he thought he was owed some truths. 

"What was he like?"

Aman closed his eyes, his smile softening. 

"Funny. Loud. He made a scene at every function. He used to sneak me candy and chocolate and let me practice driving his car before I was technically allowed. He could never say no to anything. All my friends loved him."

Rohit couldn't help but smile hearing Aman talk with such love for a man he had never met. He could almost imagine it, Aman as a child scheming with his fun-loving father behind his mother's back. 

"Then," Aman continued, eyes still closed, "he got sick and everybody forgot about what he was really like. This was apparently what he was really like. A sick, old man confined to bed, slowly dying. My mother cried every time she left his room and relatives would come from all over just to look at him and talk about what a shame it was. By the time he was gone, I barely recognized him. Nobody talks about his laugh or his bad jokes anymore. They just talk about how sad it was-- his life."

There was birdsong in the trees outside. Kids playing in the street, yelling at each other. Parents yelling back. 

"I'm not going to let that happen to you."

Aman turned his face towards Rohit. The light catching his cheek made him realize Aman had a bit of stubble growing in. It made him look older. 

"You can't promise that, Rohit."

"Yes, I can," he insisted, growing angry, though he couldn't decide if it was directed at Aman or on his behalf, "I'm not going to let you become a tragedy. You're my best friend and one time you made me laugh so hard water spurted out of my nose. I'm never going to forget your bad jokes or your laugh." 

Aman was giving him the indulgent, pitying look you give to small children. 

"I hope both you and Naina forget."

"We don't want to forget you. We-- you're our best friend." 

"You should make new friends."

"Stop talking nonsense."

"You can't live in the past, Rohit. Like I said, I don't want to haunt you."

Rohit knew there was no winning this argument right then. Unlike his lovely fiancee, he knew when to pick his battles. 

"I'm not sure that's something any of us can control, Aman." 

Aman took that like a blow, flinching. He closed his eyes again. Rohit didn't know to to fix it. He never thought telling someone they were loved could hurt them this much. 

"You're tired. I've kept you talking too much. I'll let you get some rest."

He moved to get up, but Aman snatched at his wrist. His grip was weak but Rohit froze in place like he was tethered to the spot where their skin met, Aman's a bright shock of heat.

"Stay. If- if you want, if you're not busy, I'd like you to stay. I mean, I'm not doing anything else. It's boring." 

He had never heard Aman sound that unsure before. He had never heard Aman sound unsure at all. Of course he stayed. He would have done anything Aman asked.

There was color in Aman's cheeks now, though the idea of him blushing seemed far less likely than fever. He was picking at the battered book he had abandoned when Rohit had come in. Rohit snatched it away from him, since it was clear to see how it had gotten so torn up. It looked like some old-fashioned romance, with the heroine in a scandalously low neckline being romanced by a handsome man on the cover. He raised an eyebrow at Aman. 

"It's a great book."

"Sure."

"You can read it and see for yourself."

Even Rohit's obtuse self knew this was as close to a request as Aman was going to get. He opened it and began reading, doing a high-pitch for all the female characters that made Aman laugh and a growl for the villain that Aman critiqued. Until he got very quiet and Rohit's was the only voice in the room. He looked up to find Aman asleep, chest rising and falling steadily under the covers. Rohit just looked at him for longer than he could say and certainly for longer than was normal. Even like this, he was beautiful. How could he ever worry that people would remember him any other way? He was the most vital, alive person Rohit knew, and he always would be. He got up to tuck the blanket in tighter around him and couldn't help but brush back the hair on his forehead, as gently as possible. He leaned down, like he was going to do something else, his hand still on Aman's hair, but stopped. He wasn't allowed yet. It would take time. Six days. Maybe more. He didn't have the luxury of resting on the seventh. But he would get there. 

**************

The first boy Aman Mathur loved was named Vivek Sethupathi. His family was from Banglore and he had a mole just under his right eye. He was good at science and helped Aman when he bothered him during class. He was awful at cricket but didn't have a bad attitude about it. What got him annoyed was when Aman loudly claimed to believe things they both knew to be patently untrue-- like the Sun revolving around the Earth. Aman just did it to get a rise out of him, not sure why he enjoyed it so much. Then, all of a sudden, he understood it desperately. Since Aman was nine, naive, and himself, he gathered a bunch of flowers from the playground, took Vivek to their favorite spot in the school to eat lunch, and told him. Now Vivek insisted on something that they both knew was patently untrue-- that Aman had been joking-- and refused to speak of it again. Aman did not learn his lesson. 

There were boys throughout highschool, ones his eyes lingered on when he saw them playing football, or friends his fingers lingered on when arms were thrown around shoulders. But the next boy who looked back, who looked first, was Rakesh Patel, in his second year of university. He had initially thought he was after Priya, the way he always seemed to be around. He followed their system, talking to the guy himself to see if he was even worth Priya's time. Aman found him to be very worth the time-- he was quiet and shy, but riotously funny with the most unexpected deadpan delivery. He was obviously a listener, and he let Aman talk at him for as long as he wanted, even interjecting to prove he had actually been listening. Whenever Aman got him to speak about his own life, Rakesh would talk about his plants and his hometown with endearing fondness. He never seemed to mind when Aman got in his personal space, teased him, gently bullied him into coming out more. Aman thought he needed a friend. And that he would be great for Priya, of course, though she kept deferring just asking him out. It made Aman oddly defensive, but Priya just looked at him with something knowing in her eyes when Aman began his passionate defense of his friend again. He only knew what she knew when, alone at the greenhouse late one night, Rakesh tucked a sprig of lily behind Aman's ear and kissed him while Aman's mouth was still shaped in a laugh. Priya cackled when he told her about "finally putting that poor boy out of his misery" as she put it. 

It lasted a year before Rakesh broke it off. His family has arranged a marriage for him and how could he say no? Aman thought maybe he could try. Wasn't love the most important thing in life? Plenty of girls has broken it off with him, hadn't even officially started it with him, but he had understood why. They were all just looking for love and sometimes his love wasn't the right fit. But this? Leaving him for a dead, unreal life without any meaning? He couldn't wrap his head around it. He cried on Priya's shoulder for hours. Not everyone thinks like you Aman, was all she could say. 

The last boy Aman Mathur would probably ever love was named Rohit Patel. He was handsome and goofy, stumbling around like a cartoon character, and looking like a kicked puppy. He had a good heart-- too good at certain times. He was looking for love the way Aman himself had been, before realizing it wasn't meant for him at all, at least in this life. The stupid boy couldn't even see the love that was obviously in front of him. Aman saw the way Rohit and Naina looked at each other and it was like a puzzle clicking in place. This was something he could do. He knew the heart transplant was a long shot. He knew any day could be his last. He was determined to live it to the fullest, and, for him, that meant making sure the people around him were taken care of. So, he made it happen and felt damn proud about it. Late at night, in the room where he lived like a hotel guest, he allowed himself to turn it over in his mind. The truth that he was in love with them was a like a sharp beautiful crystal. He liked looking at it, though it was useless. Naina might reciprocate, but that would only cause her more pain, and he was sure in his plan to nip it in the bud. Naina deserved everything good in the world, and he would do anything to keep her from feeling more loss. And Rohit...well, even if Aman had caught him looking his way with something in his eye more than once, the idiot would never figure it out for himself. They were doomed from the start, nevermind that Aman was doomed in his own special way. He had met Rohit's father, after all, and knew what kind of man Rohit was trying to be. Aman was not in that picture. He and Naina would live a very happy, successful, long life together. When he got worked up during hospital visits, during sudden moments where the inevitability of death snuck up on him, during walks through the city where he thought this might be my last time seeing the sky and was unable to see the poetry in that, the poetry of Rohit and Naina put him at peace. He didn't want to be remembered, really. He just wanted love to have been there. 

****************

Naina and Rohit were lying on his bed in his apartment with the blinds down. They were both barely clothed and a little sweaty with the heater on. Naina's hair was in his face and her arm over his chest. 

"How long have you known?" she asked 

"Known what?"

"That you liked boys. Ugh, sorry that makes it sound like we're in middle school."

Rohit laughed. What a thing to be asked by your fiancee, yet he didn't find it awkward. It was just Naina, his best friend Naina, who has heard far more about his romantic travails than anybody deserved to. 

"I feel like I'm in middle school. I don't know. I've been wondering about it myself."

"What, even you don't know? Don't be dumb."

"I never thought about it! I was always going to marry a woman, so I always dated women. It's not like I was encouraged to explore. Then, you know."

"Do I, Rohit?"

Rohit rolled his eyes at her obvious teasing, the dimple threatening to appear on her face.

"Then, Aman happened, the way he happens to people. And now I'm wondering about all those boys I used to be jealous of in school and whether all the time I spent staring at them was really about jealousy at all."

Naina hummed. 

Rohit turned to her.

"Is it weird for you? Does it make you see me differently?"

She placed her chin on her palm, her bare back arched enticingly. Rohit caressed the dip of her spine. 

"It does make me see you differently," Naina decided, "but not in a bad way or anything. It kind of felt like everything clicked. Of course you two love each other the way I love both of you. It makes such sense I had never even thought about it before." 

She pressed into his palm, humming in satisfaction at his soft strokes like a cat being pet.

"I suppose I wonder about lost time. We could have been talking about boys together and you could have stopped chasing after girls who wouldn't look at you twice."

Rohit barked out a laugh.

"Naina darling, you barely liked talking about boys with Sweetu. I doubt you would have tolerated me."

She smiled mischievously up at him, "Ah, but we have the same taste, so it's all very different."

Rohit could feel himself softening, melting in that embarrassing way he did when either of the people he loved were even mentioned. 

"That's true. Maybe it would have been better the other way around, though. Aman would probably be good at talking about boys."

Naina snorted, "He and Sweetu already do plenty of that."

Rohit turned further into Naina, smelling the scent of her sticky skin. 

"It's different with him, isn't it? He talks about boys and runs the kitchen and plans weddings. Do people talk?"

"It is different. Even if they suspect, they don't turn up their noses at him. He has an annoying way of making everyone like him. Are you worried about people talking when we...?"

He held infinite appreciation for her use of "when." Naina's unshakeable belief was the only thing keeping him sane. She was not a woman who let happiness get away from her, especially after she had been denied it so long, and she had claws. He shrugged as best he could lying down on his side. 

"Maybe in another world I would have been. A world where we had more time to worry. I like to think even then I would have gotten over it, though. That I would have eventually officially introduced Aman to my parents, like I did with you."

"I can't imagine a worse combination than him and your father."

Rohit laughed, "Oh, too true. Still, I wish I could worry about that. I wish I could think about our married life like that, with the three of us, rather than think about what the two of us are going to do afterwards."

There was no need to specify what afterwards was. They both knew what grief was coming and they both knew that only the two of them would feel it in this precise way. 

Naina pressed a finger to his lips. He kissed it gently. 

"Don't mention things like that to Aman when you tell him."

"I won't, I won't. God, how did you even work yourself up to telling him? I can barely stomach the idea."

Naina smiled again, earnest and almost painfully fond, "I talked to you, stupid."

"Oh," he said dumbly, feeling stupid indeed at the sight of her luminous face, "well I'm off to a good start at least."

And he kissed her, deep and passionate, for luck. He had to go bring their best friend home. 

***************

He picked up Aman in front of the subway station. The lights of the nighttime city playing over their faces. Aman spread his arms out, showing off.

"See, I even wore slacks."

"I can see that, "Rohit said admiringly, then suspiciously, "are those mine?"

"Obviously."

Rohit just rolled his eyes, grabbed Aman's elbow and started leading them towards the restaurant. He had told Aman it was fancy, and it was, but he hadn't expected him to actually dress accordingly. He had thought Aman would have purposely showed up in sweatpants just to annoy him. The tight black turtleneck and Rohit's dark slacks were doing something else to him. When they entered the restaurant and took their reserved seats, Aman looked back and forth so quickly he was like one of those jungle birds. 

He whistled lowly, "A single meal here probably costs more than my entire heart transplant. What do you even do with all these forks?" 

Rohit blinked at him, thrown off by his mention of the transplant that would never happen. 

"I just pick whichever one I like and use that."

Aman nodded, poking at the cutlery like he was picking out jewelry. 

"I feel like Ambani is going to pop out any second, it's stressing me out," he said, making a mock grimace at Rohit, "you don't seem worried. Did you come to places like this a lot with your family?"

Rohit shrugged, laying out the cloth on his lap as Aman continued to fidget with the wine glasses and look around the vast marble hall.

"Sometimes, only when my father needed to impress someone. He's the kind of guy who'll take you to some hole-in-the-wall Indian restaurant and insist that the best food in the city is served there. He likes to pretend he's still the man he used to be when he first got here."

Aman nodded, resting his chin in his hand. Elbows on the table, Rohit couldn't help but thinking, after being drilled by his mother ceaselessly, bad manners. 

"You're different, though. You like bringing people here and showing off how suave and sophisticated you are."

Rohit let himself smile wryly. 

"Only my dates," he said. 

It felt like a breath had been released between them. There, he had said it. Obviously it was a date. What else could it have been? Rohit had put on a nice silk shirt and everything. He still wanted to say it out loud. 

Aman raised an expressive eyebrow and folded his arms, leaning back in the chair. 

"I'm one of your dates now? I don't recall you ever asking."

"I asked if you wanted to go out and you said yes!"

Aman tutted. 

"False pretences, Rohit. I didn't know you meant out on a date. It's completely different."

Rohit pouted.

"There's no need to be embarrassed," Aman continued, unaffected, "I've done it myself."

Rohit sighed, giving up whatever control he could pretend to have over the conversation. He could take Aman out, take him back home, in every sense of the phrase, and still Aman would be the one running the show. Rohit didn't exactly mind. Aman put on a good show. 

"How did you do it, since you're such an expert."

"Well," Aman started, leaning forward and catching Rohit's eye mischievously, like they were little boys sharing secrets, "you have to pitch it like you're just friends, but act like it's a date. And by the time you're done and the other person has caught on, they'll be so impressed with what a great first date it's been that they'll act like they knew all along. Bonus points if you kiss at the door. Sometimes that's when they realize and, if you did your job right, they'll be pleasantly surprised."

Rohit pretended to clap. 

"Wow, wow. And how many times has this worked for you?"

Aman shrugged, gesturing with his fork laconically. 

"Here and there."

Rohit laughed.

"The girls don't exactly fall for it, huh?"

Aman smiled at him, that enigmatic dimpled smile like he was in on a joke only he knew.

"Who said anything about girls? I'm trying to give you tips to date me, and, I don't know if you've noticed, I'm a man."

"Oh, I've noticed." Rohit said before he could stop himself, even raking his eyes down Aman's body the way he would with whatever girl he took out. It was instinct, and maybe that was even more embarrassing. He could imagine Niana laughing at him. You know Rohit, other people have fight or flight reflexes but it seems you have only flirt or flirt. 

Aman's second eyebrow went up. 

Rohit hoped he wasn't as red as he felt and desperately tried to recover. Aman had made a move and Rohit was an idiot and a creep and he couldn't afford to blow this.

"Do the boys fall for it then?" he asked desperately.

Aman was still looking at him with his eyebrows raised, as if he was assessing him for a job position that Rohit hadn't even realized he was applying for. 

"Why don't you wait and find out?" 

By the time they were waking back to Rohit's apartment, he was feeling pretty good about everything. Sharing a meal with Aman was as enjoyable and natural as it had always been. It even felt better, because Aman wasn't hiding anything from him now, and he swore he could feel it in the relaxed slump of Aman's shoulders. They stopped at the door, Rohit almost going up without turning around, since Aman always followed. He practically lived in the place himself. Or he had used to. Rohit realized he wouldn't come without being asked these days. 

"Do you want to come upstairs? Naina isn't home, she's studying late."

Aman shrugged, his jacket neatly folded over his arm, looking like some kind of fashion model. It was infuriating how pretty he looked in the moody light of the street lamps, his eyelashes casting stark shadows on his face. He started following Rohit up, and Rohit could blessedly look away. 

"You better not be saying those words to anybody else."

Rohit chuckled, "Believe me, you'll be the only one who hears them."

He wanted to say so much and say it so badly he felt like he was going to throw it all up on the street. 

Upstairs, Aman went to the kitchen first, getting them drinks. Rohit reclined on his couch and looked around his living room. It was different now, with little touches of Naina all over the place. Her dog-eared books left on the coffee table, the TV remote at the place she likes to put in because she hated losing it, her dupatta draped over the back of a chair. Aman came back with two glasses of whisky, the cheap brand Rohit liked. His father tried to get him more into drinking expensive alcohol, but he really couldn't stomach it. He took his chill glass gratefully as Aman flopped down beside him, their thighs touching. 

"You know, I should be getting drinks."

"Why, because I'm the guest? Never stopped me before."

Rohit scoffed, "No, you've never been a guest. I should do it because I'm the one who took you out. I'm trying to seduce you, remember? I ought to be a gentleman."

Aman paused with the glass halfway to his lips, hesitating. Rohit so rarely saw him hesitate. Come on, he thought, please just let me say it. 

Aman recovered and smirked. 

"Look who's talking about being a gentleman. The first time we woke up in your bed together, I was still the one who made you coffee."

Rohit spluttered in outrage, making Aman laugh that big, genuine laugh, all dimples. Rohit put his head in his hand, out of defenses.

 “I was really that bad, huh?"

"Yup."

"Well, I'll be better this time. I'm really very interested in kissing you, you know?"

"Oh?" 

There was that second of hesitation again. 

Rohit powered through. He had given so many love confessions, most of them deeply embarrassing, but you could never say that he wasn't earnest. He wouldn't get cold feet now, wouldn't stick to the jokes they always made. He needed Aman to know he meant it. 

"You said bonus points if we kiss, right? Sometimes that's when you find out you were even on a date at all. I told you, but I don't think you know. I want you to know."

"Rohit..."

"It's funny, to woo Naina I had to get your advice. And now I'm following what you're telling me to woo you! You're always bossing me around, Aman."

"You ask for it."

Rohit leaned in even closer, their mouths just inches apart. Aman was as still as a statue. 

"I do. I like it. I really like you. I really love you. I told you, but I don't think you know. I want you to know."

Aman abruptly got up, setting his glass on the table. 

"It's not funny, Rohit.”

“Good, because I'm not trying to be funny.”

“What are you trying do then?”

“I'm trying to tell you I love you! I thought I was being pretty damn clear.”

Aman pinched the bridge of his nose. 

“This is too cruel.”

“Aman-”

“I know you're mad that I lied to you. I know you're mad about how I feel about Naina. I guess you're mad about how I feel about you, too. But please don't do this to me.”

Rohit got up now too, his heart hammering in his chest like a locomotive.

“How do you feel about me?”

Aman turned to look at him then, his face more pinched and pained than even on his sickbed.

“Please don't make me say it,” he begged, “you obviously already know. I was just going along with the joke.”

Rohit took a step closer.

“I want to hear it.”

Aman laughed, short and bitter and nothing like he had come to expect from him.

“Why? So we both know how pathetic I am?”

“Pathetic? I don't think that at all.”

Aman backed away from him, pacing the length of Rohit's living room the same way Rohit himself had done when first realizing how he truly felt about this man in front of him. He remembered how disorienting it had been. 

“Hey,” he said, trying to be gentle, smiling, like he was comforting a caged animal, “is it so pathetic to love me?” 

Aman stopped his pacing to stare at him, posture straight as a rod, and his face chilling. 

“I'm pathetic for wanting something I can't have.”

“Why can't you have it? I'm offering.”

Aman made a pained nose, scrubbing his hands through his hair roughly, pacing again. 

“Because! Because you and Naina are in love and together and you're going to live a good life. I'm not going to get in the way of that. I refuse.”

“Aman, you won't be getting in the way. You would be completing us. We want you there. The both of us.”

“No, you don't.”

Rohit scoffed, “Don't tell me how I feel. Or how Naina feels. She and I have talked about this. We know.” 

“It's not worth it! The heartbreak isn't going to be worth it. I'm not going to be worth it.”

He was shaking now, trembling like a leaf. Rohit got in his path, put his hands on Aman's shoulders, and was surprised when Aman didn't shake him off. He ducked his head, trying to see Aman's expression. 

“You're worth it. You're worth any heartbreak. You think there's any way to stop it?”

“Don't make me do it. Don't make me hurt you. I'm really not that strong of a person, you know. I'm not going to be able to say no. I can never say no to either of you.”

“I’m sorry, I'm really so, so sorry, but I have to make you do it. All three of us deserve happiness, even if it doesn't end well. The beginning and middle can be pretty good, right?”

Aman still had his head bowed, his shoulders shaking now like he was crying. Rohit thought he was crying, something Rohit had never seen him do before. And it was Rohit's fault. Aman was right, this was too cruel.

“I need you to say it, Aman.”

Then he looked up, his eyes glassy and cheeks tear stained. 

“I love you, Rohit. I love you and I love your wife and I wish…I wish…I wish…”

He broke off, clutching the front of Rohit's shirt and tugging it like he was furious, never finishing his sentence. Rohit pulled Aman to him, cradled his body as Aman buried his face in his shoulder. He sounded like he was taking deep breaths, but Rohit could feel wetness on his shirt. This was apparently how Aman cried, so quiet you almost missed it. Rohit wouldn't have guessed that. They could have stood there for minutes or years, Aman letting out all the emotion that he hadn't let himself feel. When he loosened his grip, Rohit pressed a kiss to his hair. Aman raised his head, a cheekbone visible, and Rohit kissed that too. When they were face to face again, Rohit wiped away Aman's tears with his thumbs, hands cradling his face. 

Aman took a trembling breath. 

“Still want to kiss me? After all of that?”

“Always.”

Aman nodded once, seriously, then surged forward. 

Rohit has imagined what it would be like to kiss him, but when it was actually happening it was like his brain forgot how to process sensation. It felt unreal that it was happening at all. Lips on lips. Then he was gone, looking at Rohit with huge brown eyes, chest rising and falling quickly. Rohit took him in for a second. He grabbed him by the shoulders, slotting his lips back over Aman’s and drinking in the surprised noise he made. They were practically grappling now, each grabbing as much of the other as they could reach, pushing and pulling. Rohit realized it was different with a man who was the same size as him, not that Naina was anything close to passive or gentle, but feeling Aman's big warm palms on his back and waist had his stomach flipping. Rohit himself couldn't even decide where to put his hands, he wanted to touch everything. He has his palms under Aman's sweater now, having untucked it, and was roaming across the planes of his stomach. He belatedly remembered that he had promised to be a gentleman. With the utmost regret, he disengaged from Aman, who seemed to feel as bad about it if the way he chased Rohit's lips was any judge. 

“Hey, hey,” Rohit said, hand on Aman's cheek, “we don't…I don't want you to feel pressured or anything. If you need some time–” 

“Haven't I waited long enough?”

His voice was hoarse and yearning. He really had been waiting. He had probably been waiting far longer than Rohit. It made him feel guilty and embarrassingly giddy with the idea that Aman had wanted him– still wanted him bad enough to beg for it. 

Aman chuckled, “You got me to make the selfish choice and now you're saying I don't get the benefits? Too cruel.”

Rohit pulled him forward, kissed his already kiss-swollen lips again and again and again like he was trying to eat him whole. 

“If you think I'm cruel,” he mumbled between kisses, “you should see Naina.”

“Yes, you really should.”

Both Aman and Rohit jumped apart, and turned as one to see Naina standing in the doorway. Neither of them had heard her come in. They had been too wrapped up in each other. 

“Don't stop on my account,” she said, her shoes clicking on the floor. 

She turned to Aman. 

“So you're staying for good this time?”

Aman smiled ruefully.

“Didn't get much of a choice.”

“Good.”

She reached up and pulled him down with one elegant hand on his neck. It was the exact fantasy he had indulged in– Aman and Naina kissing in front of him, his hands on her waist, her hands in his hair, pressed together like they were trying to fuse. When they finally broke apart and were done staring into each other's eyes, which took at least a few minutes in Rohit's estimation, Naina caught his expression and laughed. His mouth was hanging open and for all he knew he was drooling. He was sure he looked precisely like the besotted idiot that he was. 

“I think he liked that, Aman.”

Aman rolled his eyes fondly, faking exasperation, “Of course he did.”

Naina moved towards him and Rohit was already bending towards her face, eager and not embarrassed of it. Who wouldn't look forward to kissing Naina Kapoor, she was the most gorgeous woman in the world. He sometimes still couldn't believe she was going to be his wife. Her hair was silky in his fingers and her lips as lush and giving as always. He opened his eyes and made eye contact with Aman over Naina’s shoulder. His pupils were huge with want and he looked as openly longing as Rohit had seen him, his face naked of any performance. It was a little too much for him. 

“You know, I think the bed can take three,” he gasped out. 

Naina had the audacity to actually giggle at him. She took his hand and began leading him inside, stopping only to cock a head at Aman. 

“You said you would stay.”

“Are you both sure? You have to tell me now because if you let me in, I'm never going to want to leave. I'll become really very bad.”

Naina kept her gaze steady. 

“We're sure.”

The three of them went inside.

*************