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Emir lifts an eyebrow. “Did you think…?”

“I’m not good at that whole thinking thing.”

Emir rolls his eyes, then laughs. Sebastian laughs too.

Their hands swing between them as Sebastian navigates through the trees, toward the locker room. He’s peeking around. The noise from the bonfire is gone now. Any of the players could be lurking, or the coaches might be patrolling after anotherRockymarathon. The coast seems clear.

“Do you do this a lot?”

“Actually,” Sebastian says, pushing hair off his forehead, “I’veneverdone this, ever.”

Three summers at camp and friends like Mason and Willie who like to break curfew makes walking around camp after hours second nature. It helps that Sebastian can smell the locker rooms, ripe with sweat and musk, thirty feet away.

His nose wrinkles when they step inside. “Gotta love it.” He doesn’t know why, but he keeps his back to Emir while he undresses. He tells Emir to grab towels while he starts the shower.

Sebastian hears a throat clear and turns around to quite a sight. Bathed in flickering fluorescent light, Emir shyly hugs his lean body. His hair flops over his forehead.

“Are we getting in or not?” Emir asks.

Sebastian remembers:Emir, with me, in the shower. Hesitation flees, and they stumble into the steam.

The spray is hot, pounding noisily against the tiles. It gives Sebastian an excuse to shift closer to Emir. He’s scrubbing soap over the hawk tattoo while Emir tells him about his former roommate, a frosh named Connelly, who left the first day of camp. Sebastian doesn’t remember him.

“Rooming with a Muslim offended his family,” Emir confesses.

“He’s a dick,” Sebastian says, scowling at Emir’s shoulder blades. “And his parents are too.”

Emir says, shoulders tight, “He wasn’t. You’d do the same thing if you were stuck with someone who went against the things you were raised to believe.”

“I would not.”

“I’m okay, mate.” Emir sighs. “People can have their ignorance.”

“It’s not cool.”

“It’s not supposed to be.”

Sebastian rests his wrinkled forehead against Emir’s spine. “That’s bullshit,” he whispers.

“People dislike other people for the wrong reasons,” Emir says. “Doesn’t mean we should act like them.”

Sebastian doesn’t have an argument for that.

Eyes closed, Emir slicks his hair off his forehead, letting Sebastian’s chin hook over his shoulder. “I’ve dealt with this for a long time, you know. Connelly wasn’t the first, and he won’t be the last.”

The world shouldn’t be like that; people shouldn’t be irrationally unaccepting. But it’s an argument people like Emir have fought through for way longer than Sebastian’s been aware of it. He’s not blind to his own privilege. He’s never faced any prejudice for his skin color, his blondish-brown hair, or his parents’ casual relationship with religion. His sexuality is protected by his teammates and coaches. But Sebastian’s aware that to blindly hate a race, religion, sexuality, gender, or whatever is the purest form of prejudice.

Sebastian needs a subject change: “Did I ever tell you about how I barely made the team?”

Emir tilts his head to expose a smile.

“Oh, yeah, super boring story, but—”

Emir rests his head on Sebastian’s shoulder as Sebastian recounts his first year as a Lion. Drops of water sit on Emir’s face, like warm, wet stars. His eyes close; his lashes flutter every few words. Sebastian checks occasionally for Emir’s facial reactions, but he’s at peace.

“I shouldn’t tell you this,” says Emir. They’re face to face now. He whispers, “I came to a few games, to watch you.”

The water’s still hot, so that could explain Emir’s flushed cheeks, but Sebastian’s betting it’s a different reason.