Chapter Text
Sid woke up. Light was coming through the blinds, shining up the white walls. He didn’t need to look to know Tony’s bed was empty, made with military precision. The room smelled like Stonem’s cologne and laundry detergent. Sid’s sleeping bag was now a permanent fixture on the patch of carpet between the bed and the desk, a sad, floating “island” he called home.
After a week at this place, he got used to it. So much that it became the new routine. Tony would vanish early for lectures or the library, leaving him to the echoing quiet of the flat. Unless, of course, Caleb and Rhys were home. Then he’d wake up to the smell of weed and loud laughter. At some point, they started to remind Sid of him and Tony when they were closer, when they were at school. They hadn’t talked about the airport, or the hug, or the crying. They hadn’t talked about New York. Cassie. They existed in a ceasefire, communicating only in necessities. Tossed towel, grunt when dinner was ordered, the click on the laptop closing serving as a signal for sleep.
He rolled up the sleeping bag, tucking it against the wall with precision to avoid any criticism from his roommate, and walked to the bathroom. The flat was the usual post-apocalyptic chaos. A tower of monster cans and pizza boxes leaned against the sofa in the living room. Someone’s cereal bowl, fossilised with milk, sat on the edge of the coffee table. Sid navigated through it like a ghost, feeling invisible and hyper-aware. He felt out of place in Cardiff. It was strange being around Tony again, but even stranger to live with people he had never met. He didn’t particularly trust them. He walked towards the bathroom door and grabbed the handle. A new kind of panic settled in his stomach. It wasn’t the sharp, screaming panic like he had at the airport. This was much slower and heavier. He was a stagnant puddle in the flow of Tony’s life. A week of eating his food, sleeping on his floor, existing in his world with no past or future discussed, he confirmed what he always knew. He was a charity case. And Stonem’s charity came with invisible, ever-growing interest.
He couldn’t just be there. Not like this.
He had to get a job. Money would mean he could pay for his own shit and not rely on Tony for everything. Maybe then he wouldn’t feel so shit.
He let go of the handle and went back to Tony’s room. He could do anything. He’d work anywhere.
Tony’s laptop was closed on the desk. Using it felt like trespassing into a sacred tomb, but Sid felt desperate. The overwhelming emotions had outweighed the rules of Stonem’s. He sat at the desk and opened it. The password screen glared back. He stared at it; the massive black void reminded him of the dirty New York subway. He let out a sigh; he’d never know the password. He was about to close it when he typed “Sidney”. Incorrect. He let out another sigh, a sigh he didn’t know he was holding. He was staring at the screen, defeated when a soft voice came from the doorway.
“I brought you a sandwich from Boots. Thought you might be hungry.”
Sid jumped, slamming the laptop shut as if caught watching some filthy threesome. Tom stood in the doorway, holding a cup and a neatly packed sandwich. He let out a smile.
“Sorry,” Tom said, not sounding very sorry. “I didn’t mean to sneak up on you. I just felt like we haven’t exactly had the chance to talk.”
Sid’s heart hammered against his ribs. Tony could never find out about him touching his stuff. “Right. Thanks.” He stood up, walked over, and grabbed a sandwich from Tom. The guy let out an ear-to-ear smile. “Do you want to go into the kitchen or maybe my room?”
“Uuh, sure. Your room is better. I don’t want to sit on someone’s moulding toast.”
They walked out of Tony’s pristine white chambers and went over to the neighbouring door. Tom opened it and Sid got startled with the amount of colours. Walls, full of posters from different rock bands, like Guns N’ Roses and Journey, single bed with comics scattered on the covers, big table near the other wall and a desk chair that was slowly falling apart. Now that room looked and smelled alive.
“What are you planning to do?” Tom asked, as he sat on the edge of the bed.
“Job hunting. I need to find something soon. I can’t leech off Tony forever.”
Tom let out a laugh. “Please, do.”
Sid smiled. He took a bite of the sandwich. It tasted stale and sour, but that’s what you get for £2. He couldn’t complain. “Thanks for this,” said Sid with his mouth full of food.
“Always.” He paused, sipped the liquid from the mug and asked, “So, tell me why you are such a big thing. Tony was going insane when you called him.” Sid’s chewing slowed. The stale bread turned to paste in his mouth. He swallowed with effort, his throat suddenly felt tight.
“Was he?” Sid chuckled, not believing a word. He took another bite just to have something to do. “Looked pretty together when he picked me up.”
It was a pathetic lie. Tom didn’t call him out on it. Rightfully so, because he didn’t know. At least, Jenkins assumed he didn’t. Tony wouldn’t tell a single soul about his meltdown. He was always a cold, unemotional asshole. Tom gave Sid a look, which made him shudder.
“He kept on frantically running around and swearing. Never seen him like that. But, you know, whatever. Whatever.”
Sid’s stomach clenched. “Well, he’s always been dramatic.” He said it to end the conversation he didn’t want to get into. It would be long, exhausting, and unnecessary. Tony was and would be Tony. That’s just who he is. There was no point in hyper-analysing his every step.
Tom smiled, but it didn’t reach his eyes. He took a sip from the mug, letting the subject dissolve into the cluttered air of the room.
“So, Job,” Tom said, his voice brightening. “You got any…hidden talents, or something?”
Sid sighed and gave him a troubled look. “How could you tell? I am very good at being in the wrong place at the wrong time.”
Tom snorted. “Perfect. Look, the café down the road needs some new staff. Hours are okay, pay could be better.”
“Yeah? Cool.”
“You need to look alive and clean though.” Tom said, matter-of-fact. He got up, rooted through some clothes hanging on the back of the desk chair, and pulled out some clothes. He tossed them over. “Here. Borrow some of mine for now. Might be a bit big on you. Cool?”
Sid caught it. It smelled like funky cologne. Something with berries and jasmine. Not like Tony’s invasive detergent. “Cheers, man. Seriously.”
“Don’t,” Tom said, coming closer and putting his hand over Sid’s shoulder. “Just get the job and then you can buy me some root beer.”
Before Sid could respond, the flat got filled with noise. It was a distant, fuzzy buzz. Then, precise, singular click of the front door lock. Sid froze up. Tom’s eyes flicked towards his own door.
Footsteps. Tony’s door made a squeaking noise. A few moments later, Tom’s door was open as well. There he was. Stonem stood in the corridor, hand on the handle, wearing a sophisticated navy jumper and jeans. He looked like a proper student. Tony first looked at Tom, then at Sid. His eyes sparkled with something.
“Making friends, twat?”
“Why? Does it bother you?”
Tony’s expression didn’t change. The sparkle in his eyes didn’t harden, it grew more amused and patronising. He leaned against the doorframe.
“Bother me?” Tony repeated. He let his gaze drift from Sid to the clothes in his hands. “I am just admiring the local wildlife. Can’t believe you’ve managed to coax the stray out of his corner, Tom. Did you use a sandwich or just a kind word?”
Tom’s easy smile filtered, replaced by a mild discomfort. Sid let out a laugh.
“Don’t worry, asshole. No one is stealing me from you.”
A perfect beat of silence. Tony’s eyes widened.
“Stealing?” Tony echoed, pushing off the doorframe and taking a deliberate step into the room. The space seemed to shrink around him. “How tragically romantic. This isn’t a custody battle, asshole. Be honest, Thomas. Is this your rendition of a saviour complex?”
Tom’s ears were bright red. He looked at the floor, then at Sid, a silent apology in his eyes. Sid felt funny about the situation. Sudden anger came on Tom’s behalf. He closed the distance between himself and Stonem. “Got it all figured out, haven’t you? You’re just a brilliant sociopath, watching from the door. I am a stray. Tom’s Mother Teresa.”
Tony’s smile was a razor slit. “Well, it’s surely thrilling. More thrilling than this charity case. Mutual exchange of low expectations, Sidney. It’s like watching bacteria conjugate.” His gaze dropped to the shirt in Sid’s hands, and his nose wrinkled with theatrical distaste. “Tom, it’s better to quarantine. Who knows what he picked up in New York.”
Sid’s jaw tightened. “Yeah, well, asshole, you seemed pretty fucking eager to catch it at the airport.”
The air left the room Tom looked like he wanted to disappear into one of his many posters. Tony went very, very still. “Don’t mistake a moment of weakness for a change in the fucking ecosystem, twat.”
He turned to lave, then paused. He looked directly at Sid, eyes gleaming with pure, unadulterated spite. And with that he was gone, pulling the door shut behind him with a quiet, definitive click.
The silence he left was toxic and thick. Tom exhaled. “The fuck?”
Sid gave him a pat on the back. He left without looking back at him. He passed Tony’s door and went out of the flat.