Page 60 of Hilarina and the Ogre

There was only one problem. “It feels uneven, though. I don’t have much to contribute.”

But Trenton shrugged that off too. “If Maggie’s mortgage had been bigger, I wouldn’t have anything to contribute either. It worked out this time. Next time it might be your boon. It doesn’t really matter, does it?”

It didn’t. It was only some other person’s version of pride that was insisting it did, and Hilary found he didn’t much care about other people’s versions of things anymore.

In the studio, Trenton requested a leotard. “On the coupons you never said you wouldn’t wear a leotard.”

“I never said I’d wear one either,” Hilary grumbled, but he still put it on.

“And the tights.”

“You’re really demanding today.”

“It doesn’t make sense to do the leotard and not the tights.”

No, he supposed it didn’t.

Hilary had to warm up first, though that didn’t take long. He was in much better condition since returning to the classes and spending more time in the studio. It felt good, and he found he was enjoying himself. For the dance, he chose a section from Coppelia, a ballet he’d been obsessed with as a younger, slightly emo, teenager. He found he still remembered it all, the steps hammered into his body after so many repetitions, but he improvised anyway, adding in extra jumps and turns simply for the fun of doing them. He’d always loved the jumps most, the part of dancing that required the most strength. Ballet wasn’t exactly a manly art form, but somehow he always felt at his most masculine when he was doing the jumps. Hilarina on steroids.

“I don’t know how you do that,” Trenton said once the dance was over, and Hilary was cooling down. He was leaning into his developpe, leg up by his ear, as high as it would go.

“I can show you the basic form of it,” Hilary offered. “The rest is just stretching and practice. Come here.”

“I can’t.”

It was a strange answer. The tone of it too. Hilary turned.

Trenton was on one of the floor mats, sitting with his legs crossed, a little hunched over. It was an unusual pose for him. After so many years of Aikido, he had very good posture. But the pose was deliberate. Meant to obscure. It took Hilary a moment. Okay, a couple of moments. Then it finally dawned on him.

“You’re hard.”

It felt so strange to say. Maybe because he’d never said that phrase aloud before—especially not to Trenton of all people. But even if the words felt clumsy, the sentiment didn’t. He felt himself warming, the smile coming to his face quick and impish. “To think that even the silver knight himself could be a pervert. Where exactly were you looking, ogre?”

And suddenly Hilary was glad for the tights, seeing his reflection in the mirror with new eyes. They didn’t hide much at the best of times and were frankly obscene with his leg up by his ear.

Trenton started to stand. “I’ll leave.”

“Don’t you dare.”

Trenton was flushed, and not with arousal, but confusion. This was obviously something that—if it had ever happened before—hadn’t been nearly often enough to grow accustomed to.

Hilary held out an arm to him. “Come here.”

Trenton came, though not quickly. He seemed loath to move, stilted, for once. His usual self-assurance nowhere to be found.

“I don’t want—”

“I know. It’s alright.”

Trenton took hold of his hand but couldn’t seem to bring himself any nearer. “This doesn’t happen.”

“That’s fine. Either way is fine.”

It was strange to see Trenton panicking, but he remembered what the boy had said about not being great with change. Then again, anyone would be shaken to see evidence against something they’d believed their whole lives.

He tried to pull Trenton closer, but the boy flinched back. “Don’t let it—!”

Hilary paused, but didn’t let go. “Because it’s frightening, or because you’re afraid I’ll find it gross?”