“Ohhhh,” Dylan says.

Arthur freezes. “Wait. That’s not what I meant. It’s not not what I mean. I think. But I wasn’t talking about that. Just talking about sleeping. In bunk beds. Nothing else.”

“Amazing,” Dylan says. “You can’t write this shit. On that note, I’m going to go get started on my future child.”

“Dylan, do not have sex in that bed,” I say.

“We’re going to role-play. I’m going to be a vampire and she’s going to be the slayer—”

Samantha is standing at the door. “Dylan. We’re going to sleep. Let’s go.” She turns back around and heads into Milton’s room.

“‘Sleep’ is code, FYI,” Dylan says, closing the door behind him.

Arthur and I turn off the lights and rest on top of the sheets, face-to-face.

“So. Good birthday?” I ask.

“It started a little on the mopey side.”

“I’m sorry.”

“Then there was a major improvement.”

“You’re welcome.”

“Then it got a little mopey again.”

“I’m sorry for Dylan.”

“And now we’re here.”

“Let’s not be mopey,” I say. “We’re finally alone, and I have something for you.”

Arthur lights up. “Really?”

I pull out my phone and open Gmail, where I save all my Wicked Wizard War chapters. I learned my lesson after losing Sorcerer Squad years ago after the old family laptop crashed. I get the chapter up. “I wrote you into The Wicked Wizard War.”

Arthur shoots up and bangs his head against the bottom of the top bunk.

I massage his head while laughing. “You okay?”

“Yeah. I mean. I’ve been written into my favorite story since Hamilton. Am I taller?”

“No. But you’re a king. King Arturo. You don’t have to read it now.”

“When did you write this?”

“I started on Monday. And finished yesterday.”

“Were you going to send it to me? If we didn’t start talking again?”

“I was working up the nerve. I think so, though. Even Hudson told me I should send it to you.”

Arthur nods.

“I shouldn’t have brought him up again,” I say. “Sorry.”

“You and Dylan should reach out to Hudson and Harriett. Try to make things right.”

“Really? That won’t be weird for you?”

“It’s only weird if I get in your way. I know you miss your friends. What if all hope isn’t lost there? You should find out.”

“I’ll think about it,” I say, lighting up with this possibility of getting Dylan, Harriett, and Hudson in the same room again.

“But only explore the friend stuff,” Arthur says. “Do not ask any what-if questions about you and Hudson dating again. That would probably end in literal heartbreak at the hands of someone pretty familiar with the law because of his summer internship but too reckless to care.”

“Death threat well received. You got it.” I’m lucky that Arthur is keeping his cool about this. “I was going to ask Harriett to swing by this week to pick up the box for Hudson. Get it out of my room. But I can just give it to him myself.”

“You don’t have to do that,” Arthur says.

“I want to.”

“No, really. I don’t need you getting rid of gifts and deleting fifty-six pictures on Instagram. It’s different. I know you love me. I would destroy anyone who tried to get me to erase any trace of you.”

“You’re really feisty today,” I say. “Still. It’s something I need to do for me.”

I don’t need little reminders of the person Hudson stopped being while we were dating. Not when I’m trying to remember who he is as a friend.

I return the focus to Arthur’s birthday, which is the most important thing tonight. We get comfortable and he begins reading his chapter. He laughs at all the King Arturo jokes I spent extra time getting right for him. He kisses me whenever King Arturo kisses Ben-Jamin. I can’t believe there was ever a chance I wasn’t going to see Arthur today. Maybe ever again.

“I love you, Arthur,” I say.

Arthur turns to me. “Te amo . . . too, Ben.”

Chapter Thirty-Five

Arthur

When my eyes flutter open, Dylan’s an inch from my face. “Gentlemen, PLEASE UNHOOK YOUR DICKS IMMEDIATELY. IT’S AN EMERGENCY.”

“That’s not . . . how dicks work.”

Dylan winks. “I know how dicks work.”

Ben hugs me closer, mumbling something into my shoulder.

“And cover your naked selves. Think of the children.”

“We’re like . . . not even close to naked.” Ben sits up, tugging his T-shirt down. “We’re literally wearing more clothes than you are.”

Dylan waggles his eyebrows. “Is that a challenge?”

“For you to put on more clothes? Sure.”

“What’s the emergency?” I ask.

“We’re getting doughnuts,” says Dylan. “And we need recommendations.”

Ben blinks. “You woke us up to get doughnut recommendations.”

“Yes.”

“Okay, is Dunkin’ Donuts out of business, or—”

“Are you actually suggesting Dunkin’ Donuts? Did you just look me in the eye and say that?”

“What’s wrong with Dunkin’?”

Dylan shudders. “They’re the Starbucks of doughnuts.”

“Starbucks has doughnuts,” says Ben. “Starbucks is the Starbucks of doughnuts.”

“Please stop.”

“Doughnuts are doughnuts.”

“Bennis the Menace, you’re better than this.”

Samantha pokes her head in the doorway. “Come on, we’re going to Beard Papa’s. We’ll bring stuff back. Ben, you coming?”

“Put your pants on, Ben 10,” says Dylan. “You just got enrolled in Doughnuts 101.”

When I wander into the living room, Jessie’s legs are in Ethan’s lap. It hits me that this is the first time the three of us have been alone together all summer.

I sink into a chair, wrapping my arms around my knees. “This is strange.”

Jessie laughs nervously. “What’s strange?”

“I don’t know. The fact that you’re here. In New York. And you’re dating!”

“And you have a boyfriend,” says Jessie. “A really cute boyfriend.”

“Heh. Yeah.”

“So everything worked out? You guys are good again?”

“We’re good. Totally good. For two more days anyway.” I try to smile, but it won’t stick.

Jessie looks at me expectantly. “Are you guys gonna—”

“No. I don’t know. We haven’t talked about it.”

“You should,” Jessie says.

My chest tightens. “Yeah.”

Now Ethan’s hands are resting on Jessie’s . . . calves? Sort of her knees? I’m trying not to fixate on it, but wow. It’s like the time Dad shaved off his beard, and he was Dad, but he wasn’t, and my twelve-year-old brain couldn’t handle it. And here I am all over again, not handling it. Or maybe this is me handling it.

“Art, I’m really, really sorry we didn’t tell you about . . . us. I know it’s weird for you. Of course it would be.”

“No, you weren’t weird.” I shake my head quickly. “I was weird. It’s just—I don’t know. I felt like Amneris in Aida. Like I should have seen it coming.”

“Dude.” Ethan exhales. “I’m so sorry. We did that. We Amneris’d you.”

“Please speak English,” says Jessie.

“But I was such a dick. I’m sorry. You guys are happy, and I’m happy for you!”

“No—”

“And I hate how I reacted. I hate that I made you feel weird.”

“Well,” says Ethan, “I hate that I made you think I had issues with you being gay.”