Chapter Twenty-Six: May, 2001
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"It's my birthday and we're going somewhere nice." Kate lobbed the magazine at Simon, loose flyers scattered across the kitchen at the impact. Aaron picked at one, scanning the events listed, tearing one corner as it attempted to stick to the tacky surface of their share-house's counter. "Somewhere semi-classy, at least. Please?"
"I mean, you're looking at a list of clubs that still advertise by flyer," Simon pointed out, paging through the magazine at the glossy lists of 'places to be'. "How nice are you hoping to get?"
Aaron thought of the club they'd ended up at for his birthday, with people doing lines of coke in the open, the floors thick with grime and peeling, Spencer… "Nicer than where Kyle used to drag us," he suggested, abandoning the flyer and moving into the living room to flop carefully onto the couch, avoiding the spring that jabbed into unsuspecting backs. "Pass."
Simon dropped the magazine onto his face, splaying his legs and leaning back overtop him to peer down as Aaron fumbled it open to an index of advertisements. "Yeah well," Simon was saying, lifting his voice so Kate could hear as she drifted down the hall to the bedrooms, "Kyle was a smackhead and you know it. Flip the page, Aaron. Shit, shit, shit, overpriced, shit, alright, shit—"
Moodily, Aaron let the book fall open and looked up. "Shouldn't Kate being doing this?" he said, glancing back at the page. And then back again.
"Overpriced," Simon said, nodding at the advertisement Aaron was staring at. "You know she has no taste. We'll end up doing tequila off of strippers' stomachs if she picks. It'll be like a throwback to before she threw Kyle out on his arse."
The logo was silver on a purple background so dark it was almost black. The kind of stylish that just barely bordered on being garish. Nice in its place, tacky out of it.
It looked great in the magazine, especially when paired with the elegant font underneath declaring that a bottle event was occurring this weekend. But Aaron had seen it on a belt buckle on a man who couldn't pull off gaudy.
"What's this place?" Aaron asked, folding the magazine back and showing Simon the VU logo with shaking hands, his head humming as his thoughts raced. "Can we go there?"
Months. Months with no sign of him, no matter how many crappy clubs they got dragged to, no matter how many gambling rooms Aaron had taken to scoping out just in case. And here—finally—some kind of lead.
Do I want to find him again? Aaron wondered, as Simon took the magazine and skimmed the page. He left. He doesn't want to talk to me, clearly. Why am I bothering?
"Velvet Underground," Simon said, Kate leaning over his shoulder. "Overpriced as hell, but nice enough. Bouncers are strict though—our IDs might not be enough to get us in."
"Jenny doesn't like that place," Kate said, daubing a tissue against her mouth and leaving sticky red marks on it. "Says never trust a nightclub that has more VIP rooms than public and still sells cheap beer for college students over the bar."
Aaron swallowed. He never picked. Never. And it was Kate's birthday…
She was looking at him. He thought of Spencer. "Do you think…" he began, and trailed off, uncertain. What was he doing?
"Let's check it out," she said after a beat, and smiled. "Hey, it won't be the worst place we've ended up."
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It wasn't. There was nice carpeting leading smoothly into the polished dancefloor, the bar-top a bright white marble inlaid with black. The lighting was warm where it needed to be, the strobe lightning kept to the dance floor with a clever assortment of dividing walls and mirrors. The booths were private without being seedy, the clientele a strange mix of wealth and college students.
Simon got them in. Not for the first time, Aaron thanked his and Kate's lucky stars that they'd gotten sick of the residence hall at about the same time and decided to apply for the housemates wanted ad posted by the eclectic graduate student. Despite the run-down apartment they shared between four and the crappy second-hand furniture, Aaron knew Simon came from money and his clothes reflected that. It got them past the bouncers, at least.
"I'll get the drinks," Aaron said, and walked to the bar slowly. Unsure what he was going to find, unsure what he was looking. Finding it.
The bartender was tall, dark-haired, dressed in the same almost-black purple button-down with the VU logo splashed across the breast and a black bowtie completing the look. When he stepped back to get Aaron's drinks from the open bottles lined along the counter behind him, Aaron glanced to his waist. The black slacks, the belt with a walkie hanging from it next to the now familiar silver buckle.
"Nice belt," Aaron called over the steady bass leaking from the other room. "Where can I get one of those?"
"Sorry, mate," the bartender said with a laugh, sliding his drinks to him and taking his money. Ethan said his nametag. A wide, easy smile, eyes creased at the corners. A man who smiled a lot, smiled readily. "Employees only."
Employees only.
"Of course," Aaron said, grinning and knowing it looked stupid in his desperation to appear normal. Hopefully the guy would just think he was drunk. "I knew that. I have a friend who works here. Spencer. Spencer Reid. Uh, he on tonight?"
The smile vanished and left the other man's face looking cold and blank. "No idea who you're talking about," he said, voice sharp, and he looked Aaron up and down like he was memorizing him. "Sorry, I have patrons." And he was gone, leaving Aaron cold.
Lying. He'd lied.
Why?
"Maybe we should go," Simon murmured suddenly, what felt like moments later but was actually hours, his light eyes scanning the area around their booth. Kate and Clint were gone, probably making out somewhere on the dancefloor, and Aaron had been moodily picking at his drink, lost in thought. "I'm not imagining this, am I?"
"What?" Aaron looked up, following his gaze. A woman was standing near them, lounging casually by the door. Earpiece on, chin cocked up, Security painted across her black vest. "Are they watching us?"
"Have been since the start of the night," Simon said, winking at her. The woman rolled her eyes. "Did you fuck someone off when you got drinks?"
Aaron thought of Ethan, his suspicious stare. The instant aggression as soon as Aaron mentioned Spencer.
"You can go," he said, choking the rest of his drink down. "I'm staying." He wasn't giving up now. Not this close.
Something was going on, and he was determined to find out what.
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The club had five exits. Three of those were locked fire escapes. One was the front door.
Aaron found the outside employee exit as the sky above was beginning to lighten, thumbing through the packet of smokes he'd borrowed from Simon just to look like he had a reason for loitering. Choking on the first one, it took a beat to remember how to inhale without coughing, smoking never a vice he'd indulged.
And he waited. Employees looked at him oddly as they left for their cars in the gated parking lot nearby, but he merely lit another smoke, strolled up the street a bit and loafed in a shopfront, the exit still clearly visible from here. It was cold still, at this hour, and his phone beeped twice with curious texts from his housemates. He ignored them, opening snake instead and tapping at it, glancing up every time he heard the distinctive beep-click of the buzzer opening the locked door, followed by hurried footsteps. It was a well-lit exit, cameras clearly visible overhead, and security walked past regularly. None of the employees looked intimidated by his presence.
Good. That wasn't his intention.
Beep-click went the door, but no footsteps followed. Aaron looked up.
Spencer looked back, his expression carefully blank. They watched each other, neither willing to make the first move. Without the blood and bruising, Aaron examined his face. How he'd changed. How he'd stayed the same. Examined the black vest, the belt that had lead him here, the name-tag missing but the bowtie just the same as the rest of the staff wore.
Finally, finally, Spencer stepped off the stoop and walked towards him. Aaron waited. Had been waiting all night, what was a bit more? When he drew close, he smelt of alcohol and cigar smoke and anti-bacterial soap, his face pale in the weak light from the streetlamp overhead and the store front behind.
"Seven minutes," he said finally, looking down at Aaron sitting on the sill.
"Huh?" Aaron blinked, exhaling and stubbing the smoke out against the brick, heart jack-rabbiting and entirely unsure of what he planned to do next.
"I used to say it to Mom," Spencer explained. Hands shoved in his pockets, shoulders hunched over; he looked awkward and worried all at once. Just as unsure as Aaron felt. "Every time she smoked. Told her it took seven minutes away from her life."
"Oh." Aaron shoved the packet in his pocket, along with his phone, standing and swallowing down the chill dawn air. Wired still. "I don't really smoke. I was just… needed an excuse to wait here."
"Hope that excuse was worth the thirty-five minutes of your life it wasted," Spencer murmured, and Aaron smiled wanly and hoped that it was. They went quiet again. Not the comfortable quiet of their childhoods, but a terrible, heavy quiet that spoke of things left unsaid. "Do you have a plan now?"
No.
Yes.
"Yes," Aaron said, squaring his shoulders and schooling his expression into a stubborn determination. "We're going to talk. And if you walk away from me this time, I'll follow you. After we've talked, if you never want to see me again, fine. I'll leave. But only after."
Spencer nodded slowly, then turned and strode away. Startled, it took a beat for Aaron to realize what was happening, before pelting after him. "Oi," he panted, skidding alongside and taking two long steps to catch up with Spencer's easy, sloping stride. "That wasn't a challenge for you to try and get away."
A quirk of his mouth was the only sign the other man had heard him. He kept walking. Aaron shrugged, and followed. Up quiet, sleeping streets, away from the brightly-lit shopfronts of the street where Spencer worked and into the darkened, narrow roads lined by apartment buildings of varying respectabilities, this neighbourhood unsure of whether it was growing or declining and the people living there caught in between.
They walked in silence up those streets and they walked in silence through a narrow, bricked alley that was clean and unlit, and they walked in silence as Aaron glumly wondered what this would be like if they'd never fallen apart. If they'd grown and found this together. If his stupid, rash letter hadn't ruined everything.
Keys jangled. Spencer jogged up the damp steps of an apartment building definitely on the 'declining' scale, hammered his fist on the broken buzzer, and wiggled the gate as it automatically clicked open on broken hinges, holding it for Aaron to slide through. The keys grated in the foyer door, grinding against the lock, needing a shove from Spencer's heel to actually get the thing open. Aaron winced, once again glad for Simon and his reduced rent for the apartment that was far nicer than this, even with four twenty-sometimes living in there.
Far nicer than the damp that extended to the carpeting inside as they walked through the foyer and past the peeling out of order painted across the elevator doors. Far nicer than the blocky staircase that smelt of urine that they climbed to the sixth floor. Far nicer than the door that Spencer unlocked silently, 6K, and slipped inside. Shut it behind them, leaving the three bolts on the back open and merely flicking the lock on the handle.
The light flashed on, flickering uncertainly before catching. Aaron swallowed, still silent, still uncertain, an intruder in this space. No books, no chemistry sets. Just a TV sitting on the ground against the wall in a jumble of cords, a VCR balanced next to it with bunny-eared antennae stuck on the top in a grimy glob of blue-tac. A couch that was more sag than soft, missing its back and one arm duct-taped together. A fridge that spluttered and choked in the tiny kitchen attached, a single mug on the sink. A couple of battered boxes shoved against the living room wall, under windows that were barred and hazy. Their footsteps echoed. When Aaron coughed, the sound lingered. Spencer looked away, flushing, taking his vest off savagely and tossing it across the back of the couch, kicking his shoes into a neat line of shoes by the door and scattering them.
And that didn't make sense, because Spencer was working a nice job, a job Aaron knew paid well before tips.
When he looked down at the shoes, they were different sizes. Two people. He looked back up, counted two doors. One closed—bathroom, he guessed. One open, revealing a mattress shoved against a wall with a bundle of bedding on top, a stack of textbooks alongside.
Two people, Aaron thought again, looking at those shoes, and felt small and stupid and insecure. Why was he even here? What right did he have to walk into this man's life like he'd never left?
"Enjoying the view?" Spencer asked, his voice taut.
"No," Aaron said honestly. Stopped. Looked at everything but Spencer's blushing face, guilty for the embarrassment written there.
And the quiet was painful, so he was fucking grateful when Spencer shrugged, turned his back and padded to the kitchen to shove a kettle under the faucet and bang it on top of the gas range. "Coffee?" he asked softly, and Aaron nodded, perching awkwardly on the taped-up arm of the couch. Noted Spencer's one white sock, one blue with spots, and smiled at the reminder that not everything was new. Tried not to look and failed as Spencer tugged a cupboard door open, revealing two more mugs and a battered tin of instant coffee. "There's no sugar."
"That's fine." Aaron stood, wincing as his bladder protested. "Um. Bathroom?"
Spencer jerked his head towards the closed door. "Down there," he said, drawer clacking as he yanked it out. Aaron bolted, guilt and awkwardness speeding his steps, slipping through the door and into a narrow hall. Three doors.
Oh.
First one he tried was a closet, and here he found more boxes, stacks of laundry, some coats hanging on a rod that had been nailed in by clumsy hands. Second he tried was the bathroom; small and seedy and clean, despite the long-engrained stains that had been there long before Spencer had, and would remain long after he was gone. The shower stall was ringed by a periodic table curtain, something that Aaron smirked at, a rubber ducky hanging from the shower head by his neck. Washing his hands, he splashed water on his face, examined his reflection in the cracked mirror, and left the bathroom feeling slightly more alive.
And stopped. The third door was open, and that was the only thing that tempted him closer. Another bedroom. This one with a bed and a dresser, more books, clothes covering the floor and instruments leaning against one wall.
Oh, Aaron thought, and something in his stomach that had been cold and cramped lifted just a little, letting him breathe easier. He walked back to the kitchen feeling lighter. "You have a roommate," he said, finding Spencer sitting on the floor by the TV set, two mugs of coffee by his side. "Couldn't you afford a better place?"
Spencer shrugged, flipping the remote in his hands, before climbing to his feet and tossing it to Aaron. "I can't," he answered finally. "He can. I need to shower, I smell like an ashtray. Can… will you wait?"
Aaron nodded, his throat dry. "Of course," he said, and the words cracked as they left his mouth. Lingered even after Spencer had sidled past him, leaving the middle door open. He took Spencer's place on the floor, flicking through grainy channels on the muted TV, listening to the pipes bang and clatter and eventually quieten.
When he blinked, he wasn't sure where he was, what was going on, sure he'd been listening to something pattering in the distance, unsure what it was. Mouth fuzzy, head buzzing, he rolled upright and winced as his neck crinked. Found a glass of water just out of easy reach, his phone and wallet neatly piled next to it. There was a pillow cuddled against his front, a blanket thrown over his hips and legs, and the light through the thin curtains burned.
A noise had woken him. A scrape. Aaron blinked and looked up, finding the door opening. A man slipped in, yawning, kicking it shut and turning back to draw the bolts.
"Hello," Aaron said dumbly, vividly aware he was a stranger on this guy's living room floor, half asleep and hungover as fuck. Just to remind him, his stomach gurgled. The man jumped, spun around, his hands coming upright into an instant defensive posture.
Aaron stared up at the bartender from the night before, sure that his shock was mirrored.
"What the fuck?" the man snapped, furious, expression fierce. "How the fuck did you get here?" He stepped forward, posture threatening, and Aaron bolted upright quickly, disliking the edge him being on the floor gave the other guy.
"Ethan, this is Aaron," Spencer said from behind them. Aaron cut his gaze nervously to the other man, finding Spencer standing in the bedroom doorway in loose flannel pants and a t-shirt that hung loosely, hair still damp and flat to his head. "He's a friend."
"A friend," Ethan repeated coldly, and his gaze didn't waver from Aaron. A dark, angry kind of thought hummed its way into Aaron's brain, and he felt the hairs on the back of his neck and arms stand on end. The atmosphere was tight, thick enough to taste, and there was a twist to Ethan's mouth that, when paired with his bunched fists, put Aaron's back up. "Interesting. What kind of friend?"
"Not that kind." Spencer seemed to be the only calm one in the room. Aaron had no idea what was going on, no idea how to ask without putting his foot in his mouth, and no idea whether he could walk away from this or not. "You're late back."
"Don't change the subject," Ethan snapped, and now Aaron was pissed.
"Do you have a problem?" he asked the man, holding his hands out in a sort of gratifying gesture that was betrayed by the irritation in his voice. "I've been friends with Spence since we were kids. Your defensive attitude is uncalled for."
Silence. "You're right, I apologise," Ethan said through gritted teeth, striding across the room to the hall. "Spence, can we talk?"
Spencer shot Aaron an apologetic look, following his housemate. The door clicked shut softly behind them, but it wasn't enough to silence the argument that followed, just muffle it enough that Aaron couldn't hear the words exchanged. Most of them.
Not my keeper, was audible, as well as a barked, not doing this again. Aaron winced, recognising the terms from the good old days of Kyle, when arguments between him and Kate had been daily and exhaustingly predictable. What am I supposed to assume, floated out, and Aaron was done. There was a legal pad next to the couch, covered in complicated looking chemistry equations, and he flipped to a new page, scrawled 'Maybe we should do this another time. Aaron' and his mobile number, and let himself out, making sure to slam the door behind him so they knew he was leaving.
Things were so much simpler back at Rhosgobel…
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A shrill da da da dah dah cut through his afternoon 'I'm still hungover' nap, as his phone vibrated aggressively on his bedside cupboard.
"Guh," he told his phone, eyes still gummed together. It ignored him, continuing on with a merry da da da. "Fuck."
Stabbing at the phone, missing the buttons twice, he peered sleepily at the blocky green screen.
UNKNOWN NUMBER
MEET AT WRK 2NITE SHFT END. SR.
"Nope," Aaron told the phone firmly, dropping it back to the cupboard. "I'm not going. I'm tired. I'm hungover. I have exams coming up. Spencer is being an evasive shit. Not even a little tempted to go."
And he picked up his phone again, determined now.
Remembered their last letter.
TO: UNKNOWN NUMBER
K. C U THEN. U OK?
… Damnit.
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It wasn't Spencer standing by the exit door. At least, Aaron was ninety percent sure it wasn't Spencer, since the man standing there was smoking moodily.
"You know," Aaron said, stopping a few feet away and shoving his hands into his coat pockets. "It's a little 'possessive boyfriend' that you texted me as him to get me here."
"Would you have come if I hadn't?" Ethan asked, dropping the butt and grinding it down with the heel of his dress shoe before ducking to lob it into the dumpster. "It's a little 'I'm a weirdo stalker' that you came to his workplace asking about a man you haven't spoken to in years."
Aaron blinked. Considered the implications of that. And then reconsidered exactly why he was here.
"He's told you about me," he said, surprised despite himself. Ethan nodded, eyes narrowed, fingers fiddling with the packet of smokes in his pocket. "Then why'd you…"
"He's told me about a kid he used to visit." Ethan tugged the packet out, began shredding the thin cardboard thoughtfully. "Wrote letters to. Visited some. Said you guys fell out of contact, just before he was transferred here. But Spencer tends to tell half a story and fill the other half with useless unrelated trivia, so I had to fill in the rest myself."
"Fill it with assumptions," Aaron snapped.
Ethan snorted in reply. "Like you didn't do the same. Here, let me fix some for you. Me and Spencer aren't fucking, never have. I'm not another one of his shitty phases. I'm not his dealer, I'm not his keeper, but I am his friend. And, no offense, but I don't know you and I do know him, and he has a history of picking the one person out of the room who'll fuck him over and giving them keys to our apartment."
"You think I'm here to hurt him."
"You wouldn't be the first." Ethan edged forward. Behind him, Aaron saw a security guard stroll past the corner of the building, casually not looking to them. Ethan hadn't come alone. His heart dropped to his shoes, not just with what that said about the kinds of people Ethan expected Spencer to associate with, but his words as well. Dealer. Fuck. "Wouldn't be the first I put on their ass either. I just got him clean. I just got him working. He's a goddamn kid, and if you think you can walk in here and undo everything we've fucking bled to regain, you've got another thing—"
Aaron stepped back, out of reach. Fully aware that they were teetering towards a fight that Ethan was too scrawny to win, except for the fact that Aaron would probably let him just for the weird rush of gratefulness/misery at the stories behind his warnings.
"What happened to him?" he asked, feeling sick. "Before he came here?"
Ethan's face twisted with confusion for a heartbeat, before settling back into a calm kind of blankness. "Honestly?" he said, the fight vanishing from his eyes to be replaced with resignation. "I thought you did."