This chapter could make people who have issues with vomiting feel uncomfortable, I'm not sure what the exact warning should be but, yeah, please be aware. Thank you.


Seven steps, that's all it was, just seven little steps and he'd be there. He did it every other day without even thinking so why did it suddenly seem like the most impossible thing in the world to do? Well, he knew why, but that didn't actually help much.

Jones stared at the front door and tried, again, to talk himself into opening it. His gear was packed and ready to go in the milk crates he'd appropriated over the years and strapped to the rusty sack truck he'd adopted from the skip behind the minimart. He just needed to open the door and walk through it, but he couldn't make himself take those last few steps.

Tonight was supposed to be his big return. He hadn't done a set at the club since Dan's accident, and had only done a handful of shifts at Stanley Knives as well, and tonight was supposed to mark his return to work. His bosses had been really understanding about the need to take time off when he said his best mate/housemate had jumped out of a window and needed looking after, but he and Dan needed the money so two weeks was all he could realistically take off.

He'd been excited about it, his fingers itching to get out there and perform for a crowd rather than just his sitting room, even if Dan was an appreciative audience in his own way. Now he wasn't sure he wanted to leave the house ever again.

His phone had been buzzing so much Dan had threatened to throw it against the wall, a fate his own mobile had already met, but Jones knew it was just the stress of the day finally getting to him. Getting to them both. So far there were nineteen messages on his phone and they were all about the article in SugaRape. Half a dozen had been from the team at Stanley Knives, first warning him about the article and then telling him that they supported him one hundred percent and that no copy of SugaRape would make it through their salon doors ever again. Another had been from his boss at H8nuPx, asking if he was he still ok to come in to work. That had been quite nice really.

But the other messages had been from people he barely knew, and some of them had made him want to vomit.

He still wanted to vomit. He had time. It was only a quarter to six. His set wasn't until nine but he'd wanted to get there early, before the streets got busy with partiers. So that he could sneak into the club by the back door and avoid notice, the voice in his head added, because he was scared.

Because he was absolutely terrified.

He fiddled with the beads on his wrist, spinning and winding them around, feeling the cheap elastic pulling at his skin, trying to count them with his fingers as he stared at the door and the pattern in the wood, wishing the gentle clack of the pieces of colourful plastic would calm him like they usually did before a gig.

One of the messages had threatened to 'Fuk u up m8' for 'ruining' Dan Ashcroft.

Jones turned and sprinted to the bathroom, hitting the tiles so hard that a shock wave went up through his knees and made his back ache. He grabbed the toilet bowl, trying to take proper breaths, but it wasn't working. All he could think of was that he'd ruined Dan Ashcroft. That his life, his existence, his love for Dan, had ruined things.

His sobs sounded strange in the tiled room, magnified but not quite echoing. They were almost muted, bouncing at him from odd angles and making him feel dizzy. He tried closing his eyes but the insides of his eyelids were full of sparks like fire crackers on bonfire night and it made him feel worse.

Jones opened his mouth because the creeping feeling in his stomach and throat was getting worse, but nothing came out. He stuck out his tongue, like a kid at the health clinic, staring into the toilet bowl, willing it to happen, but there was still nothing, just the desperate feeling that he needed to vomit, wouldn't be able to move until he did, even though his knees were throbbing and he had to get to work.

Jones sobbed, his breath ripping out of his lungs, and brought his fingers carefully to his mouth. He tried one finger first but his knuckles just bumped against his teeth so he moved his thumb around and tried two, creeping them to the back of his tongue and feeling the gag build. It was the worst feeling ever, like he was pulling his soul out through his mouth, and tears began to tumble down his cheeks like boiling bath water until, finally, he was able to puke.

He tried to pull his fingers out of the way but wasn't quick enough and gagged again at the warm stickiness on them, which brought up what was left of his stomach contents in three, cramping, waves.

He sobbed again, his nose running like a toddler's, and looked around for the loo roll, wishing now that he'd just put up with the feeling of needing to vomit, rather than actually doing it. He held his fingers away from him, not wanting to look until he could clean them, but the cheap toilet paper ripped and stuck to his damp fingers like some sort of grotesque, failed, papier-mache, and even after he'd wiped his hands and face as hard as he could he still felt mingin'.

He turned the tap on, listening to the water rushing through the ancient pipes and making them rattle. Ghost music he always called it, and Dan always called him daft but laughed all the same. He concentrated on that sound, and the feel of the water against his skin, until he finally felt calm again. A glance in the mirror told him he'd need to redo his make-up but it also showed him Dan, leaning on the wall in the hallway, watching him with eyes so tired it made Jones want to sleep for a week, nightmares be damned.

"Dan," he whispered, his voice croaky and raw.

"D'you do that often?" Dan whispered back.

"What?"

"Stick your fingers down your throat and make yourself sick. You know what I mean."

His voice was still quiet but so hard it make Jones jump and he shook his head quickly, his damp hair flicking about his face and distracting him even though he wanted to give Dan his attention.

"I just felt ill," he said, wishing he didn't sound like he was begging. "I never done it before. It was gross, I don't want to do it again, ever. I'm sorry."

Dan heaved a sigh that was worn out and sad, but beautiful at the same time - like an old rag doll, limp and loose - and held out his arms. Jones went to him, knowing Dan was probably too sore to walk right now, leaning against the wall, his chest heaving and forehead sweaty. It wasn't a passionate hug, or a 'we should have sex' hug, or the sort of comforting cuddle like they'd been having a lot of over the last couple of weeks. It was one of those sad ones, the kind where they just held each other, not tight or close, only enough to be touching, like they didn't want to break one another, and Jones felt his eyes start to burn again.

"I'm really sorry, Dan," he breathed. "Shall I just stay home?"

Dan rumbled a no, deep in his chest, and wrapped his arms a little tighter around Jones' chest so that he could lean in and press a kiss to the top of his head.

"Not unless you can live without coffee. We're nearly out and well... money..."

"Yeah..." Jones stared at the weave of Dan's shirt, thin and worn so you could pick out the individual threads, and older than their friendship. "Money's a bitch."

"Mmm," Dan responded, the tone of his voice a little higher, back into the range that Jones thought of as 'not-quite-as-depressed Dan' pitch. "But coffee is good."

"Yeah," Jones agreed, huffing a short breath through his nose that was almost a laugh, like he was sneezing at the unexpected happiness, he thought.

"Did you... want me to come with you tonight?"

Jones looked up. Dan's face was a bit grey and his skin was going all clammy, like it did at the end of the day when he was so tired he couldn't pretend that his wrist and leg weren't throbbing like hell, and that he wasn't desperate for a drink. He looked like a mess and Jones couldn't help but smile.

"Nah," he shook his head. "Dan, H8nuPx ain't just an 'underground' club, in the cool way. It's actually down a flight of stairs. You can barely make it from the bedroom to the loo. You'd have no chance. I'd just be worrying about you all night." He took a deep breath. "I'll be worrying about you as it is. You sure you'll be ok?"

"You sure you'll be ok?" Dan shot back and looked so sulky that Jones felt his shoulders begin to shake with the laughter that he couldn't stop.

"Oh, Dan. I'll be right. I'm a big boy... despite what your wanker boss's been writing about me."

Dan's sulk intensified as his face ducked down and his brows drew together and when he mumbled he sounded the way Jones figured he had when was he was a teenager.

"He's not my boss anymore, I quit. If anything, you're the sugar daddy now. Providing for your elderly lover in his infirmity."

"God, Dan, do say shit like that, it's well creepy."

Dan smiled. It was quick and tight, a twitch of his lips and little more, but Jones saw it and it made him feel like there was a warm bubble bath in his chest, making him feel cozy and clean and a bit excited as well.

"I wanna kiss you, Dan, but my breath's..."

"A bit off," Dan provided and Jones nodded, slipping out of the embrace and walking backwards into the bathroom, not wanting to take his eyes off Dan, even for a moment.

"You can try and wait up for me if you like?" he said around a mouthful of toothpaste.

Why did the urge to talk always quadruple when he was brushing his teeth? It made him look like a dribbling twat but he couldn't help it, the second he had something in his mouth, his brain thought of something that just needed to be said. There was a dirty joke in there, but laughing with a mouth full of minty suds was worse than talking so he tried to ignore it, but kept talking to Dan around his toothbrush all the same.

"Oh, can I?" Dan murmured, raising an eyebrow.

"Yep. I'll be back early, I don't feel like sticking round after my set or nothing. I'll be home before midnight."

"I'll try," Dan said with a tired smile and Jones suddenly felt a stab of guilt.

"Well, no, don't stay up if you're tired. Sorry. I don't want you exhausting yourself, you're supposed to be resting, just," he knew he was babbling but Dan wasn't stopping him. He spit his toothpaste into the sink for something to do, watching it slime its way slowly toward the plug hole, but couldn't stop the words from bubbling out of him as well. "Just, ignore what I said, ok? You should be in bed right now, not leaning on the wall and watching me act like a stupid emo or something. Go to bed, Dan. I'll get you a tea or somethin' before I go and I'll sleep on the couch or somethin' when I get home so I don't wake you. I just-"

"Shut up."

It was something Dan said to everyone, muttered fast and sharp, and it made Jones want to burst into tears because it was something Dan usually did when he just couldn't deal with the Idiots anymore. Jones didn't want to be an idiot but he worried a lot that he was.

"Sorry."

"No," Dan groaned, bringing his hands up to his head like he wanted to block the sound out, then swearing viciously when he hit himself in the face with his wrist cast, again.

"I'm sorry."

"Don't say sorry! Please, Jones? None of this is your fault. It's-"

"Not yours either, then," Jones finished for him. He hated it when Dan's voice became so pleading - when they were outside of the bedroom in any case - and Dan sighed at him and gave him another tired, half-smile.

"You and me," he said thoughtfully. "Made for each other." But he said it like he wasn't quite sure whether it was a good thing or not.

"Yeah... Dan I'm scared."

"Come here," Dan told him and he went and let Dan cup his chin in one hand, running his thumb over the stubble Jones hadn't bothered to shave away. "Anything happens, you nut them, alright? You're a grown man and you don't have to put up with that shit. And definitely not while you're working. Go to work. Give 'em hell. Make their ears bleed."

"If I didn't know better I'd say you weren't a fan of my music Mr Ashcroft."

Dan growled and put his hand possessively over Jones' arse, pulling him in tight until he could run his nose along Jones', which made Jones shiver.

"I am your biggest fan Mr Jones and you know it. Now go to work, and when you get back I will make it worth your while."

Jones closed his eyes and tried to stop the feeling that the bubbles from his chest were trying to burst their way out of his body. No one should be allowed to have a voice so deep and creamy and... just so damned sexy, and he needed to take a moment before he could even answer.

After at least two moments of not being able to calm his heart Jones just settled for kissing Dan instead, which didn't exactly help his excitement levels, but was the easiest way to let Dan know how much he was loved and wanted and that he needed to look after himself. The scratch of his bristled chin against Dan's sent a thrill through his mind, and straight to his groin, and he considered calling the club and saying he just couldn't come in tonight because how could anyone fight against a sound like that?

Dan let the kiss happen, curling his tongue around Jones' before pulling back and nipping at his bottom lip until Jones worried his knees might give way. But he was not about to bloody well swoon over Dan Ashcroft! He'd never hear the end of it if he did, Dan'd crow about it for years.

"What are you gonna get up to while I'm gone off bein' the breadwinner? Coffee and pot noodle winner? Whatever..." Jones asked between jagged breaths, trying seem unflustered even though Dan was kissing up his jaw line to bite his ear in a way that made his eyelashes flutter like a less voluptuous Betty Boop.

Dan let out a subdued chuckle and kissed Jones' forehead.

"I'll probably just... you know..." he stopped kissing and just leaned his face, sighing, into Jones' hair. "Call my mum, probably."

"Wow. Wild times in the House of Jones," Jones teased winding his arms up around Dan's neck and pulling him into a proper cuddle. "Except that you threw your phone at the wall."

"There's this thing called a landline, you fetus," Dan muttered with mock outrage but the amusement floated through the words like a harmony that made Jones want to cry for a completely different reason.

"Shut it, old man," he laughed. The tension was gone and the fear with it, and he nuzzled in to Dan until the taller man squirmed away because Jones' kisses were tickling his neck. "I expect you in bed when I get back. Give your mum my love."

He gave Dan another quick kiss, getting a kick out of the slap sound their lips made as they connected, and ducked back to the bathroom to redo his eyeliner.

By the time he was done Dan had hobbled into the kitchen and was making himself a cup of tea.

"Remember," he told Jones as he prepared himself to actually go out the front door. "Make their ears bleed. And if they make trouble... make their noses bleed too."

"Love you, Dan."

"You too, Jonesy. Always."

Jones gave him a nod, grabbed the handle of his sack truck and opened the door. He could do this. He was there to work the decks and like as not no one would even recognise him. What was the worst that could happen?

"Fuck," he whispered as he closed the door behind him, so Dan wouldn't hear. Why'd he have to think that?