Chapter Fifty-Two: December, 2003

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They were sober and quiet, watching the faintest hint of fireworks over the skyline beyond Elle's apartment. The roof, oddly, was silent except for a man standing with his daughter by the adjourning edge; the five of them welcomed the New Year together.

"I'm getting old," Elle said glumly, after the man had carried his sleepy child back down into the building. Spencer watched as Ethan looked at her, his hand twitching as though to reach out and take her hand, before he pulled it back. Something was different there; something was changing. Gone were the easy touches and comfortable gestures they'd slipped into together. Spencer would be sad to see something ending between them, except Ethan was just as withdrawn with him as well.

It was frightening. Time was slipping onwards.

"You're supposed to complain about getting older on your birthday, not on the New Year," Spencer said instead of facing that end hurtling towards them, the one that was written in Ethan's silence and his sudden interest in Spencer's monetary situation recently. "Tonight you're supposed to complain about, I don't know, dieting. Or eating healthily or—"

"Stop there, kid," Elle said, her head snapping around as she frowned at him. "You're treading dangerously close to calling me fat."

He backtracked, his hand almost knocking his glass to juice over as he quickly rambled: "No, no, I mean a New Year's Resolution, not weight or, um, health or… I actually can't think of any other than dieting right now, but I'm sure there's a ton, I'm just—"

"I'm leaving," said Ethan.

Silence fell between them three. The fireworks rattled merrily onwards. Nearby, a window must have been opened, the raucous party within spilling without with loud cries of good cheer.

Spencer swallowed.

Elle said, "I know," and reached out to take his hand. She looked sad. She looked resigned. Ethan simply looked tired. "I found your ticket."

"Ticket?" Spencer asked, the last one to know once more.

Now, Ethan looked at him. "Gonna travel for a bit, I think," he said hoarsely. "Play some music, just… live. I don't know. See places. I've been here for almost ten years now, Spence, and I'm tired. I'm tired of not being able to see the stars. I'm tired of playing in shitty clubs to people who don't give a shit. I'm tired of living in shithole after shithole, like we're just barely existing."

Tired of me? Spencer wanted to ask, but that was a kind of mindset he was supposed to have left behind, along with the drugs and Aaron. None of which had ever really left him.

"I'm sorry," Ethan was still saying, this time to Elle, and this time Spencer did see emotion. A swallow, a glint in a dangerously glassy eye, before he looked away and hid his expression. "I…"

"Don't," Elle replied shortly. "Don't say that before you walk away. Don't be a cunt."

Ethan nodded.

"When do you leave?" Spencer scraped his shoe on the rocky rooftop, shivering despite the blanket around his shoulders.

"February. You'll be okay without me though, Spence, won't you? I shouldn't—"

It was Spencer's turn to be sharp: "Don't do that," he said, but his voice was gentler than Elle's. "You've been doing that for years, Eth. Putting me before yourself… this is for you. As an aside, I will be fine without you, you know, I'm somewhat capable—" If Elle's laugh was a little too damp, they ignored it and let her continue to study the sky for the fading remains of smoke. "—and I can feed myself now and… and…" He faltered: "And… I'll miss you."

Ethan nodded again, standing and holding out his hand. "It's 2004," he said quietly, pulling Spencer upright before trying to turn Elle to face them. She fought him without a word, her face still tilted away, sidling away from his companionable arm before finally looking at them once she'd composed herself: "I'm going to be thirty this year. It's a good time to do something different. But I'll come back."

"I won't wait," Elle warned him with a sniff. "I don't wait, bucko, I'm no damsel."

And Ethan said quietly: "I know."

Later that night, Ethan found Spencer sitting on his bed letting Specky chase the shredded end of what had once been a tie, the cat barely taking notice of Ethan sitting beside them. Spencer let him have the tie, petting his tabby-striped back as Ethan toyed with the lashing tail between them.

"One year sober, huh," Ethan pointed out.

Spencer smiled: "Yeah. That won't change just because you're not here to kick my ass, Ethan, I promise."

A nod was his answer, slow and careful, before Ethan asked: "Do you think about Aaron much? Anymore? I mean, besides when he emails, which… you know, I'll still do that for you. You can still contact me, I'll find, I don't know. Libraries. Computers. Somewhere. A laptop."

Spencer was honest, because he knew this wasn't about him and Aaron, not right now. "All the time."

"Does it ever stop hurting?"

Did it? Spencer considered how it had felt a year ago, walking away from Aaron for the last time. And he thought about now, healthy and hopeful with only the scars of his past to account for, despite the ways his mind still tried to drag him down. "It hurts less," he said finally, "as time goes on. It was right though, that we separated…"

Ethan breathed in, breathed out, and asked, "Is it right? For me and… her, I guess. For me and her to… separate. Now… then. Maybe. For… good."

"Yes," Spencer said bluntly. "You can do it on your own, but you have to let yourself."

And Ethan nodded.