One Song Glory

Jack stood up and stretched, reveling in the new warmth that filled his body. "Hey, so I'm going to go out. Try to find Mush, see if he's okay. Do you want to come? Maybe we can get some food," he said, pulling on his gloves.

Skittery had his guitar out again and was plucking absently at the strings. He stopped, and looked up to give Jack a withering glance. "Too bad they don't use the barter system any more. We could trade my empty wallet for pizza."

"Touché, and I'll take that as a no. Well, if you're sure, I'll be back soon." Jack turned to leave, and Skittery resumed his playing. Before he opened the door, Jack said quietly, "Take your AZT, Skittery."

Skittery snorted and looked away, back at his guitar. He heard the door swing shut as Jack left, and sighed. "I'll write one great song before I…" he murmured, and trailed off, fingers poised above the strings. He strummed a broken chord, and sighed when the notes twanged unpleasantly. Sighing again in frustration, he sat up from the couch and rubbed his temples. Angrily, he got up, pushed open the door, and stomped up the rickety stairs to the roof.

An icy blast of air hit him full force as he shoved his way out onto the roof. He grimaced, but plowed on. Skirting the piles of dirty snow, Skittery made his way over to a ragged faux-leather chair. He brushed it off and sat down heavily on it, dragging his guitar into his lap.

"One song," he whispered into the cold wind. "One song and I'll have my glory."

Suddenly, Skittery's mind flashed back to the day he met Swifty. He was playing a gig at a dingy bar, and through the haze of smoke and wildly dancing people their eyes met. After the gig, they had talked. They hit it off immediately, and one thing led to another. Skittery hadn't realized what he was getting into. He was already a druggie; one had to be to have the energy to play show after show after show. But Swifty was hardcore, using heroin, cocaine, and even meth a few times. Neither of them had known what sharing a needle to shoot up would do.

"Damn it!" Skittery cried, jumping to his feet and slamming his hands into the cold brick wall behind him. "Damn it," he repeated, and sank to the ground. "I don't want to remember this! One song, to redeem this empty life, and I won't have to remember anymore." Skittery put his head in his hands, and tried, unsuccessfully, to smother the rising tide of memory.

When Swifty discovered that he was HIV-positive, he didn't handle it well. Skittery had tried to console him, telling him that it would be okay. But Swifty didn't believe him, and committed suicide. Skittery found him in a pool of his own blood, some still spilling from the deep slices in his wrists, and something in him had cracked. He knew that he was HIV-positive as well, and he resolved to get off the drugs and stay away from the bars and clubs that he had frequented before. No matter what he felt, he knew that he couldn't live with the guilt of infecting someone else. His band had fallen apart, and slowly Skittery lost everything that he had been living for. That had been almost a year ago.

Sitting up, memories fading, Skittery tipped his head back to stare at the smog-obscured sky. "I'll find my glory in a true song. I'll find it before this virus takes hold," he promised. "I'll find it, and then there will be no need to endure anymore."

Skittery gazed into the sky for a moment longer, then rose to his feet and picked up his guitar. He tramped back down the stairs into his and Jack's chilly apartment. Silently, he set his guitar against the couch and started to gather up some more posters. He was interrupted by a soft knock on the hard metal door. Skittery sighed and trudged over to tug open the heavy door. "What did you forget?" he asked, almost angrily.

But instead of Jack standing before him, Skittery saw a very attractive young man leaning against the door frame with a candle in his hand. "Got a light?" The young man smiled at him.

Skittery blinked. "I know you," he said, confused. The man did look familiar. "You're… hey, you're shivering!"

The man shrugged. "They turned off my heat." He walked smoothly past Skittery into the apartment. "So could you light my candle for me?"

Skittery couldn't tear his eyes from the man, and didn't answer.

"What are you staring at?"

"Oh! Um, nothing." Skittery startled, and half-smiled nervously. "So, you look familiar." He stepped back from the doorway and fumbled for the matchbox on the counter behind him. Stilling his shaky hands, he reached out and lit the candle.

The man closed his eyes and moved closer to the flame. Suddenly, he stumbled backwards a step. Skittery sprang to his side, dodging the counter's sharp corner. "Are you okay? Can you make it?"

The man smiled again, regaining his balance. "I'm fine. I just haven't eaten a lot today. Anyway… what?" His blonde brows arched questioningly at Skittery.

Skittery turned his head away. He realized, too late, that he had been staring again. "Nothing. Your smile reminded me of –"

"I always 'remind people of'. Who is he?" The blonde man rolled his eyes.

"He died." Skittery said shortly. "His name was, well, it doesn't matter." He closed his eyes for a moment, remembering Swifty again.

"Oh! It's, uh, out again…" Skittery opened his eyes and saw his visitor frowning at the candle. "Sorry about your friend. Could you, um, light my candle again, please?"

"Uh, sure. Hey, watch out for the wax. It's dripping." Skittery shook his head, forcing thoughts of his ex from his mind.

"Oh, it doesn't bother me. I like it between my –" The man touched Skittery's hand gently as he grabbed for the candle.

"Fingers!" Skittery said automatically, snapping his head up. "Yeah, I figured. So, um, goodnight." He blushed and looked away awkwardly.

The man winked at him and started for the door. About halfway out, he turned suddenly. The candle flickered out for the third time. "Damn! I think I dropped my stash."

Skittery didn't respond for a moment, watching his visitor search. "You know, I think I've seen you before, when I used to go out. Hey, you're candle's out."

"Damn," the man said again. "I know that I had it when I came in. It's pure, too." He walked around the small apartment. "Is it on the floor?" He knelt, still looking.

"The floor?" Skittery asked, confused again.

"They say that I have the best ass below 14th street. Is it true?"

"What?" Skittery's eyes open wide in surprise.

"You're staring again." The man glanced up from the floor and grinned.

"Oh no," Skittery groaned. "I mean, you do have a nice…" He trailed off, gaze lingering a beat too long. "I mean –"

"Yeah?"

"You look familiar."

"Like your dead boyfriend?"

"A little. Only when you smile. I'm positive that I've seen you somewhere else." Skittery reluctantly joined the man in his searching.

"Do you go to Club 82? I dance there."

"That's it! They used to tie you up, right?"

The man sat up and glanced ruefully at Skittery. "Hey, it's a living."

Skittery smirked at him, amused. "Sorry. I didn't recognize you without the handcuffs."

He rolled his eyes. "Maybe if we lit the candle again, we could find my stuff," he said, still looking around desperately.

Skittery did as the man asked, but didn't resume his searching for the drugs. "Why don't you forget that stuff?"

"Why would I do that? Sometimes I like to, you know, feel good."

"But you look so young."

"I am. So are you. Everyone is, honestly. I'm just born to be bad." He stood and winked at Skittery.

"Once, I was born to be bad too," Skittery said, staring out the window. "I used to shiver like you." He looked the blonde man over.

"I told you already, they shut off my heat!"

"I used to sweat like that."

The man scowled. "I have a cold."

"Uh huh." Skittery was skeptical. "I used to be a junkie, too. I know what it's like, trust me." When he glanced away, the light of the candle drew Skittery's eye to a small package lying half-buried by the sagging couch. "Oh, hey! Here it –" He stopped himself, but it was too late.

"You found it?" The man stood up, looking eager.

"Oh, no, sorry, false alarm. It was just a candy bar wrapper," Skittery said, tucking the small bag into his back pocket.

The man started towards him, holding the candle. Skittery snuffed it out as, with his free hand, the man tried to reach for his stash.

"What the hell did you do that for?" The man recoiled, grimacing angrily.

"Sorry. As far as you know, it was an accident." Skittery couldn't believe that he was flirting again. He sat down heavily on the couch.

"So will you light it again?"

"Can't. That was my last match."

"Well, thank God for the moon then. Our eyes will have to adjust." The man moved closer, sitting down next to him and reaching over Skittery to set the candle on the end table, his anger forgotten. Their hands brushed, and Skittery flinched.

"Your hands are cold," he said, by way of explanation.

"So are yours." Blinking blonde hair from his eyes, the man leaned back.

There was a moment of awkward silence before Skittery said, "So… I'm Skittery."

"They call me Dutchy."

Another moment passed, and Dutchy rose to his feet. Skittery jumped up as well. "Maybe I'll see you around, Skittery. Tonight was fun." He smiled.

"Uh, yeah. I enjoyed it, too."

Dutchy's brilliant grin widened, and suddenly he reached around and snatched the small plastic bag from Skittery's pocket. He turned to leave. "Thanks for the light," he said as he paused at the door. He winked before he walked away.

Skittery stood, stunned, for a moment before calling, "Yeah, no problem," He moved to the doorway. "No problem at all."

For the first time in nearly a year, Skittery smiled.