It wasn’t an entirely innocent question, but Noam kept himself wide eyed and curious all the same.
“Not that,” Dara said, screwing up his face and shaking his head. “I always thought...” He hesitated for a moment, darting a quick glance at Noam from beneath his lashes. Then: “I’d like to live out on a farm somewhere. With a garden, and maybe some goats. Somewhere I can see the stars.”
Oh please.
Whatever. If Dara didn’t want to tell him the truth, then fine.
Noam was happy to just drink with him. It was good whiskey. And besides, Noam liked the way the liquor made him feel, his thoughts warm, fat fish swimming through the sea of his mind. He was still better off than Dara, who had finally tugged the bottle back out of Noam’s grasp and slung one arm over the railing, his face toward the glittering sky.
“Never had bourbon before,” Noam said at last. “No, really. It’s all beer and shine in my parts.” Or aguardiente, if Noam’s dad was feeling nostalgic. “You ever had moonshine?”
“Do you really think Lehrer let me drink moonshine growing up?”
“Lehrer does seem more the vintage imported whisky type,” Noam admitted. “Like, he’d probably say we could only enjoy this drink if we had sophisticated adult palates.”
“You’re right,” Dara said, looking back to Noam and holding the bottle out over the brick sidewalk, mischievous. “Maybe we should just pour it out. Better than insulting the distillery by drinking it with our crude palates.”
“Don’t you dare.” Noam lurched forward, grabbing for the bottle, but Dara was quicker, pulling it out of reach and tipping his head back for another swallow, this one long, as if he were luxuriating in it. Dara gave him a considering look when at last he lowered the bottle, fingers toying with the neck. He had transformed, somehow, in the past several minutes—from cold and cautious to something brighter, buoyant.
Dara reminded Noam of a piece of tourmaline he found once, gleaming a different color every time he tilted it to a new angle. He was fascinating.
“We should do this again sometime,” Dara said.
Noam fought to ignore the sudden, prickling rush of adrenaline flooding beneath his skin.
“Oh yeah?”
Dara set the bottle down on the bench between them with a clink of glass on wood. “Yeah,” he said. “It’s not often that I meet someone who shares my taste in liquor.”
“Or tastelessness, as it happens.”
Dara smirked and put the bourbon away. “Yes, well. We should get inside before Howard sends someone looking for us.”
Noam got to his feet, and after a second’s hesitation, extended a hand to help Dara up. Dara laughed and ignored him, pushing himself up with far more grace and ease than Noam had expected.
“I’m not as drunk as you think,” Dara said.
“You just consumed your body weight in bourbon.”
“Well, I did grow up drinkingdecentwhiskey instead of your bootleg moonshine, so I suppose I’ve built up a tolerance.” Dara started off toward the training wing, glancing back after three paces to gesture Noam along.
When they got back to the barracks, it was to find the others still awake and crowded into the common room, bowls of popcorn perched on their knees.
“Hey, you’re back just in time,” Taye said. “Look what we’re watching.” He gestured toward the television and grinned.
“What am I supposed to be looking at here?” Dara said as Noam dropped into the armchair nearest Ames, who flicked a popcorn kernel at his ear.
“It’s the new Lehrer biopic. Released just in time for Remembrance Day.”
Dara’s expression darkened so immediately it was as if a curtain had pulled shut behind his eyes. “Let’s not.”
“Too bad, overruled by democratic process.” Taye swung his leg where it was hooked over the arm of the sofa, clearly trying to kick Dara in the thigh, but missed. “Besides. You just don’t wanna watch ’cause he’s yourdaddy.”
Dara looked like he wanted to be physically ill. “Don’t say that.”
“What, don’t say the truth?”
“We aren’t related.”
