Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Tony’s room was cold, deprived of coziness and familial warmth. White walls, dirty gray carpet which he tried cleaning a few times but failed miserably, an unappealing metal bed frame and an even more dreadful scuffed desk by the window. No rebellious spirit, no sense of belonging. Just a prison cell to call home for the next 2 years. His other flatmates, three “dorks” Caleb, Rhys and Tom, have redecorated the space to look exactly what you’d imagine an all boys flat to look like. Geeky posters on the walls in the hallway, living room and kitchen. Dirty plates everywhere, and an absolute chaos in shared spaces. Tony’s room was the only place where it didn’t stink like death. He, of course, tried to lead the boys, let them under his wing to control and manipulate but none of them cared for him and his existence. Although, Tony was the closest with Tom. He reminded Stonem of Maxxie. A gentle soul.

It was this gentleness that made Tom the only one who ever breached the perimeter. He had a familiar charm about him, something sweet and kind, something Tony rejected but couldn’t resist. It reminded him of home, of the friends he used to have. Strangely enough of Sid.

Tony sat at his desk, writing an essay for his new assignment. The module was dreadful, focusing on British history, which not only was not intriguing to him but also required a ton of additional research. He was deep in thought, when a soft knock came at the door.

"Tony? We're ordering Chinese. Are you in?"

"That’s sweet, Tom. But no, I’m not in the mood for food poisoning today.”

Tom opened the door just a crack, his head poking around. He smiled, unfazed. "So that's a no for dim sum then?"

"It's a no for the entire pathetic spectacle. I would rather die than spend time with Caleb.” Tony finally swivelled in his chair, fixing Tom with a look that had once made lesser boys flinch. "Don't you lot ever get bored of it? The same shitty food, the same shitty video games, the same shitty conversations?"

Tom just shrugged, his smile never wavering. "It's peaceful. You should try it sometime. Maybe you’ll find it comforting.”

The word was a dart that found its mark. Comfortable. That was it. That was the whole, sickening problem. They were all so fucking comfortable in their mediocrity.

Before Tony could fashion a proper, eviscerating reply, his phone buzzed on the desk. The screen showed three letters. Sid.
He stared at it. No, it can’t be. He’s hallucinating again, like he did a few months ago.

It buzzed again. Insistent.
The feeling of absolute despair started in his thumb, a tiny, fibrillating tremor, like a trapped insect trying to burrow its way out. Tony stared at it, this traitorous piece of himself, as it danced to a rhythm he couldn't control. He willed it to stop, clenching his fist until the knuckles stood out like white marble, the short nails biting half-moons into his palm. Stop. Just stop.

But the tremor was just the first breach in the wall. The real pressure, a cold, solid weight he’d been carrying for months in the cage of his ribs, began to shift. He felt it crack, a glacial shelf calving, and the first shard of it shot straight up into his face.

His nose erupted in a sudden, sharp ache, a bone-deep throb that had nothing to do with physical injury. It was the pain of unshed tears, a lifetime of them, backed up and pressurized in the narrow canals behind his eyes and bridge of his nose. Last time he cried was when he dropped Sid at the airport and now all the sadness he’s been feeling since came at him all at once.

Tom, still in the doorway, raised his eyebrows. "Aren't you gonna get that? Might be important."
Tony didn’t look at him. Just barked “Leave.”, which Tom obeyed. He shut the door and Tony instantly pressed the green button on the screen. He rushed the cold metal to his ear, pressing it firmly against his flesh. A silence, deafening, excruciating silence before a familiar voice escaped from the machine.
“Tony?”
A single word. So sickeningly familiar. Something Tony desperately wanted to hear for months, this cadence, this voice. He clenched his jaw and took a deep breath, forcing back the tears. His hands still shaking.
“Tone? You there?”
“Sid”
His own voice sounded alien to him. It lacked the usual venom. He could hear the shaky breath escape from him. There was another long silence on the line, filled only by the silent hiss in the background.
“Yeah…um…I m at the airport.” Sid mumbled. The airport. Tony instantly got reminded of when he was dropping Jenkins off at Heathrow for his flight to New York. The grand, final gesture. The pressure behind Tony’s nose intensified, a sharp, sickening throb. He pressed the heel of his free hand hard against his eye socket.

“Right,” Tony said, his voice dangerously flat, fighting for control. “Forgotten something, did you? Your dignity? Your brain?”

He heard Sid take a sharp, hitched breath. “Tony, don’t. Please.”

Please. Sid never said please. Not like that. Not with that raw, broken need. It was a sound that bypassed all of Tony’s defences and hooked directly into his spine.

“Then what?” Tony snapped, the words lashing out, a reflex to the pain. “What do you want, Sid?“
There was a long pause. He could picture Sid, standing in the middle of the filled to the brink airport, his shoulders hunched, that lost-puppy look on his face that Tony had once found so irritating and now found he could picture with painful, crystalline clarity.
“I need you to pick me up.”
“I can’t. I am in Cardiff.”
“Yeah…I am here too.” Sid muttered. A sharp breath escaped him. Tony heard it on the end of the line.
“I’ll be there in 30. Don’t do anything stupid, Sidney.”

Tony didn’t wait for a reply. He ended the call, the phone slipping from his sweaty hand onto the desk. For one second, he was perfectly still, the reality of it crashing over him. Sid. Here. In Cardiff. Now.

Then, he erupted from his chair so fast it screeched back and fallen over. He ripped his hoodie from the back of the door, his movements jerky and uncoordinated. He pat down the pockets, his breath coming in short, sharp gasps. Keys. Keys. Where are the fucking keys?

He yanked open the desk drawer, scattering pens and dead highlighters across the floor. Nothing. He swore, a harsh, guttural sound, and spun around, his eyes wild, scanning the sterile room. Empty, deprived from any love and affection.

He burst out of his door, nearly colliding with Tom who was leaning against the wall opposite, waiting for the Chinese to arrive.

“Whoa, Tony, what’s going on?” Tom asked, his gentle face creased with concern. “You look rough. Calm down.”

Tony didn’t even look at him. He shoved past, his shoulder knocking Tom roughly against the wall. “Fuck off!”

“Hey!” Tom protested, righting himself. “What the hell’s your problem?”

Tony was already in the chaotic living room, his gaze darting over the mess. Caleb and Rhys looked up from their game, their controllers frozen in mid-air.

“Has anyone seen my car keys?” Tony demanded, his voice a high-wire of panic. He began frantically sweeping aside pizza boxes and empty crisp packets from the coffee table.

“Your keys? What do they look like?” Rhys asked, stupidly.

Tony shot him a look of pure, unadulterated venom. “They look like fucking car keys, you fucking twat!”

His hand closed over cold metal under someone’s porn magazine. He snatched them up and without saying another word, ran out of the flat.

He took the stairs three at a time, the sound of his own frantic footsteps echoing in the stairwell like gunshots. He burst out into the cold Cardiff evening, the damp air hitting his skin. His new car was parked across the street, illuminated by an old lantern. The car was gift from his parents for successfully making it to university.

He fumbled with the key, his hands shaking so badly he could barely press the button. He yanked the door open, threw himself into the driver's seat, and slammed the key into the ignition. The engine coughed, sputtered, then roared to life.

He didn't check his mirrors. He didn't fasten his seatbelt, just slammed his foot on the gas pedal, the tires squealing as he pulled out into the traffic, cutting off a bus that blared its horn in furious protest. He didn't hear it. He was driving for his life, towards the only person who had ever made him feel like he had a heart.

Sid was immune to the noise of airport crowd. He was standing at the exit, not quite making it outside, but close enough to feel the evening breeze through the rotating doors. The time he spent in New York made him pale and lifeless. A city of freedom didn’t give him anything but pain. The noise there was a constant, aggressive roar, not like this dull, distant hum of people going home. He felt like a ghost, translucent and unfinished, haunting a place he was supposed to be alive in. Cassie’s face flashed in his mind, just for a moment, but not the ethereal smile he’d chased, but a look of gentle, final pity. “You should go home, Sid.” She’d said it like it was the simplest thing in the world, like he hadn’t torn his life apart to get there.

The word felt like a foreign object in his mouth. He had no home. His dad’s dead, all his friends have moved on, Bristol was a graveyard of his old life. He worked his ass off in New York to afford a life for Cassie and him, but once he realized it’s not going to happen, he spent it all on booze. The last two months he worked just to buy ticket back to UK and food. He was ready to go back to the only person who had ever told him to go away and then paid for the privilege.

A wave of nausea washed over him. He should leave. Just walk out and… and what? Get a bus? To where?

He hugged his duffel bag tighter. It contained everything he had left. A few clothes that smelled of a city he wanted to forget.
He watched the cars pull up outside, the happy reunions, the easy hugs. Each one felt like a small, private mockery. His hands were trembling. He pulled the beanie down, so it covers majority of his forehead and shoved his hands deep into the pockets of his thin jacket, shoulders hunching further.

What if Tony didn’t come? What if he’d changed his mind? What if he took one look at him and told him to turn right back around?

The thought was so terrifying it rooted him to the spot. He was stuck in the liminal space between the airport and the world, between his old life and no life at all, completely paralyzed by the terrifying, fragile hope that a pair of headlights would soon pull up, and a familiar, sharp voice would cut through the noise, telling him he was a monumental twat. Suddenly, he saw Stonem. He was running towards the rotating doors through a group of people, not dressed for the weather at all. Light purple hoodie battled with the wind. His hair has gotten a little longer, curling on the ends. But something in his expression was different. He looked just like he did 6 months ago when he dropped Sid off at Heathrow.

Tony burst through entrance, his chest heaving. His eyes frantically scanned the room in search of Sid. He found him. There was a beat, a single, suspended second where the entire airport seemed to hold its breath. Sid looked up onto Tony’s face. Piercing blue eyes stared right through him.
Tony crossed the final distance between them in two long strides and pulled Sid into a hug.
It wasn't a gentle embrace. It was a desperate, full body clutch. Tony’s arms wrapped around him, one hand holding the back of Sid’s light jacket, holding him so tight it almost hurt. Jenkins could barely breathe, and it felt like his chest was crushing under the weight of his best friend. This wasn't the script. He was prepared for insults, for a lecture, for that familiar, mocking smirk. Not this. The sheer, unexpected force of it knocked the air from his lungs completely.
He could feel the frantic beat of Tony’s heart against his own chest. The scent of Tony’s laundry detergent, something clean and unfamiliar, cut through the airport stench. It was the most real thing he’d felt in months.
Tony was bending his knees to bury his face into the crook of Sid’s neck.
“Whoa, Tone,” Sid mumbled into his shoulder, his voice muffled. He had to break the tension, had to make it normal. He forced a weak, shaky laugh. “You’re acting like you missed me or something.”

He felt Tony’s breath hitch. And then, he felt him shake.
It started as a fine tremor in the hands clutching his back, then became a full, uncontrollable shudder that racked Tony’s entire frame. He wasn't just shaking, he was vibrating with the force of some immense, contained emotion. He buried his face deeper into the space between Sid’s neck and shoulder, and Sid could feel the hot, damp press of tears on his bare neck.

Tony Stonem was crying. Silently, violently, and without any of his usual performative grace. He was holding onto Sid like he was the only solid thing in a collapsing world, and he was breaking apart in his arms.

All the jokes, all the defensive phrases, died in Sid’s throat. The fragile hope that had kept him rooted to this spot solidified into an understanding. He slowly, hesitantly, brought his own arms up and wrapped them around Tony, his hands spreading across Tony’s back. He held on just as tightly. Closing his eyes, he let out a sigh. It felt peaceful. Desperate but peaceful.
They stood there, locked together in the middle of the bustling airport.

The shaking stopped as suddenly as it had begun. Tony pulled back, roughly swiping the heel of his hand across his eyes. He wouldn’t look at Sid directly, his gaze darting anywhere else, anywhere but Sid’s face. The departure board, the ceiling, a discarded coffee cup on the floor.

“Alright,” Tony said, his voice hoarse. He cleared his throat, forcing the old, familiar sharpness back into it. He reached out and yanked the beanie from Sid’s head, revealing his lank, flattened hair. “Didn’t I tell you to get rid of the beanie?”
Sid flinched, the sudden loss of the beanie feeling like the loss of a shield. The moment of raw connection was over, the walls were slamming back up. “Fuck off, asshole” he muttered, but there was no heat in it. He was too tired, too relieved. “What was that?” Tony smiled at him. A sincere smile, not the usual smirk.
Tony tossed the beanie back at his chest. Sid fumbled to catch it. “Come on. We gotta hurry. I don’t want to pay for parking.”

He turned and started walking towards the exit, not checking to see if Sid was following. It was an act of faith, assumption of control. Sid scrambled after him, duffel bag swinging, falling into the familiar rhythm of trailing behind Tony Stonem. Just like they were back in sixth form.
They pushed through the rotating doors into the biting Cardiff air. The silence between them was thick, charged with everything that had just happened and everything that hadn’t been said.

After a few steps, Tony spoke again, his tone artificially light, conversational. “So. Cassie.”

The name hung in the cold air between them. Sid’s stomach tightened. He stared at the back of Tony’s hoodie.

“What about her?” he mumbled.

Tony kept walking, his hands shoved deep into his pockets. “You found her, then. In the big city. Was it everything you dreamed?”

He didn’t want to know. Sid could hear it in the flat, rehearsed quality of the questions. He was asking because it was the script, the expected next line in the play of Sid’s Failure. He was asking so he wouldn’t have to ask the real questions, the ones about why Sid was back, why he’d called him, why he had held on so tightly.

Sid looked down at his feet, at the cracked pavement. “Yeah. I found her.”
“And?”
“And she’s… Cassie.” It was the only answer he had. It was the truth, and it explained nothing and everything all at once.

Tony made a non-committal sound, a quiet “huh” that was neither acceptance nor dismissal. They reached the car, a cute black Mini Cooper. Tony unlocked it with a sharp click of the fob.
“Get in the car, twat.”
Sid got in, the scent of cheap air freshener and Tony filling the small space. Tony started the engine, the radio blaring to life with some generic indie rock he immediately turned off. He didn’t put the car in gear. He just sat there, his hands gripping the steering wheel, his knuckles white. He was staring straight ahead, but Sid could see the frantic pulse in his jaw.
He was trying so hard not to reach over and hold him again. And Sid, for the first time since he’d landed, felt something other than despair. He felt seen. He felt, impossibly, like he was home.

Chapter Text

The Mini Cooper was a coffin on wheels for the first ten minutes. The only sounds were the hum of the engine, the swish of the windscreen wipers against a fine Cardiff drizzle, and the frantic, staticky beat of the electronic music station Tony had turned back on, too loud. Sid stared out the window, following the race of rain droplets, and watching the anonymous, wet streets blur past. He felt hollowed out, scraped clean by Tony’s breakdown. But most of all, he was tired. Tired of people, tired of being on the go, with no home, no real family, no one to rely on except the asshole driving the car.
Tony drove with a rigid, white-knuckled intensity, his gaze locked on the road ahead as if it was a personal enemy. Every traffic light and slow driving car were a provocation.

“So,” Tony said, his voice cutting through the music like a shard of glass. He didn’t turn his head. “You look like shit, Sid.” He spat the words out, as if grossed out. “New York’s glamour not quite what you pictured?”

And there it was. Tony Stonem. The familiar tone, and asshole phrase punches. Sid felt a weird sense of relief. This was a language he understood.
“It was fine,” Sid mumbled, slouching lower in his seat. He fixed his glasses, which tilted a bit towards the left.
“Fine? You used your life savings to fly to another continent for ‘fine’? Christ, Sidney, your ambition is breathtaking.” Tony’s fingers tapped a rapid, irritated rhythm on the steering wheel, following the beat of another Crystal Castles song. “Let me guess. You found Cassie. She looked at you with that ethereal, empty smile, realized you were still,well…You, and promptly fucked off with someone who owns more than one hoodie.”

Sid flinched. It was so close to the truth it was physically painful. “You guessed it. Asshole.”
Tony barked a short, humourless laugh. “Wow. How poetic! Did you fuck her at least?”
Tony turned towards Sid, after a few seconds he forced himself to focus on the road ahead.
Jenkins shrugged under the stare, but hadn’t said anything back.
They pulled up outside the student halls. The building was a grim, grey slab against the bruised twilight sky. Tony killed the engine, and the sudden silence was deafening. He didn’t move to get out. He just sat there, the pulse in his jaw working overtime.

“Right,” Tony said, finally turning to look at him again. His eyes were their usual piercing blue, but the skin around them was tight, faintly pink. The only evidence of his emotional breakdown. “Ground rules. You are a non-voting, non existent entity in my personal space. You speak when spoken to. You are invisible to my flatmates, who are absolute morons. Are we clear?”

Sid just nodded. Arguing was pointless. It was all performance. The real message was in the fact that they were here at all.

“Great. Get out, twat.” Tony opened the door and jumped outside.
***
The hallway was a gallery of badly tacked-up posters for fantasy films and anime, the air was filled with a stink of unwashed socks and weed. As they entered, Tom emerged from the living room, holding a container of Chow Mein.

“Tony, I got you some pizza! It’s - oh.” He stopped, his eyes widening at Sid. “Hello.”

Tony didn’t break stride. “This is Sid. Ignore him.” He stalked towards his bedroom.
Tom offered Sid a small, sympathetic smile. “Uuuh, great. I’m Tom.” He held out his hand to Sid. It was covered in scars. Probably from a cat.
“Yeah. Hi,” Sid said, quickly shaking the hand and shoving them back into his pockets, feeling like a specimen under a microscope.

“Don’t engage, Thomas,” Tony called from his doorway without looking back. “He’s contagious.” Tom let out a laugh.
“See you around!” He said, as he walked to the living room.

Sid followed Tony into the sterile white box of his room. Tony immediately went to the chair which grandly laid in the middle of the room and lifted it up. He sat behind the desk, opening his laptop with a definitive snap, a clear signal that the interaction was over. He was back in his fortress.
Sid stood awkwardly, his duffel bag feeling heavier than ever. The space was so intensely Tony, devoid of sentimental clutter, everything angled and precise, that it made Sid feel messy and oversized. He inspected the bed, but quickly realized it was too small for both of them. Then he glanced on the floor, seeing all the highlighters scattered. That wasn’t very Tony-like. It made him smile. Maybe Stonem can be a human too.

“So… where should I…?” Sid gestured vaguely at the floor.

Tony didn’t look up from his screen. “The floor’s a biohazard. The carpet is probably 40% Caleb’s DNA. You can have the sleeping bag. It’s in the bottom of the wardrobe. Don’t touch anything else in there.”

Sid found the sleeping bag, a sleek, expensive-looking thing rolled up tight. He unrolled it on the least offensive patch of carpet, between the bed and the desk. The act felt profoundly humbling. This was his space now. A thin layer of nylon on a dirty grey carpet.

He sat down on it, back against the wall, and pulled out his phone. Dead, of course. He had no charger, no way to contact anyone, no money. He was entirely, utterly dependent on the charity of Tony Stonem. He looked up at him. The light from the laptop screen highlighting the pale glow of Tony’s skin. The older he got, the more he looked like a vampire.

For a long time, the only sound was the frantic click-clack of Tony’s keyboard. He was typing with aggressive force, probably rewriting his essay. Sid closed his eyes, the exhaustion of the last 24 hours finally washing over him. The flight was a nightmare with a family sitting right behind him, kids kicking the seat and screaming at the top of their lungs for good few hours. From such a horrid experience, he must have dozed off and was woken by a soft thump. He blinked open his eyes. The room was dark now, only the pale blue light from Tony’s laptop screen illuminating it. Lying on the sleeping bag next to his hip was a bundle of fabric. A towel, a pair of grey sweatpants, and a black t-shirt.

Tony was still at his desk, posture perfect, staring at his screen as if he’d been carved from marble.
Sid picked up the clothes. They smelled of Tony’s detergent, that clean, unfamiliar scent from the airport. It was an offering. A peace treaty. No words, no eye contact. Just the simple, brutal practicality of ‘you smell, here are clean things.’

“Cheers,” Sid mumbled into the quiet.

Tony’s typing didn’t falter. “Don’t mention it. Ever.”

Sid got up and went to the small en-suite bathroom. He showered in water so hot it almost scalded, washing the grime of two continents off his skin. When he emerged, dressed in Tony’s clothes the sweatpants too long, at least the t-shirt was properly oversized and didn’t look ridiculous. Tony was in bed, lying on his back in the dark, staring at the ceiling. The laptop was closed.

Sid settled back into his sleeping bag. The fabric of Tony’s clothes against his clean skin was a strange, intimate sensation. It felt like being claimed, in a way that was both comforting and terrifying. It’s not like he never worn Tony’s clothes before. He has, a few times when Tony would host parties at his place and someone would spill booze on Sid.

In the profound silence of the room, he could hear Tony’s breathing. It wasn’t the slow, steady rhythm of sleep. It was measured, conscious. He was awake. Listening. Sidney walked to the sleeping bag, trying not to trip over air and embarrass himself in front of Tony. He laid down, covered himself and deeply inhaled the scent of laundry detergent once again.
Tony’s voice cut through the darkness, quiet and flat, devoid of its usual theatricality.
“If you snore, I will smother you with a pillow. And I will enjoy it.”

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.

Chapter Text

The heavy flat door clicked shut behind Sid. The silence of the hallway deafened him. He stood there for a moment, Tom’s borrowed clothes felt like a cheap cosplay of a normal bloke. He tugged at the collar. It was a bit big. 

Sid mumbled under his breath ‘Just go. Just walk in and ask. What’s the worst that’s going to happen?’ 

Moody cafe, “The Steamy Bean”, was about half a mile away, nestled between a charity shop and some Korean barbecue place. It glowed with sinister yellow light even in the daytime. But in that part of town, everything seemed depressing regardless. The front window was fogged up, a neon ‘OPEN’ sign buzzing faintly. Through the condensation, he could see the vague shapes of lonely people and a tired looking woman behind the counter. 

His stomach tightened. This wasn’t New York, and he knew that, but the atmosphere was just as pressing and deafening. It was no longer a grand quest; just a shitty cafe in Cardiff, and he was a shitty candidate for the job. 

He pushed the door open. 

A little bell jangled at the movement, too cheerful for the damp, cold interior. Bleak gray chairs and scattered tables, white walls with bright red posters of some old rock bands. The smell of burnt coffee grounds, industrial bleach and the sweet scent of syrup hit him. A few students hunched over laptops, headphones on. Some burrowed in books. A tall man in a fancy jacket stared into a mug. 

The woman behind the counter looked up. She had the exhausted eyes of someone who had just finished mopping the floor and was already dreading the next spill. 

“What can I do for you?” She scratched the top of her head. 

“Uh, yeah. Um…I heard you might be hiring?” Sid’s voice sounded too loud. He cleared his throat, shoving his heads into the pockets of his jeans. The entire setup made him very uncomfortable and he wanted to leave as soon as possible. But even more so, he wanted to get some money. 

Woman’s eyes flickered over him. The assessment was swift and merciless. She definitely saw right through his act of trying to appear normal. He surely looked like he crawled out of the sewer, even with Tom’s clothes on. He fixed his glasses and tugged at the beanie on his head. 

“Any experience?” 

Sid’s mind went blank for a few moments. He worked in bars before back in New York, trying to earn some quick buck and move back home. He actually did a lot of jobs back then. Bartending, barista, waiter, toilet cleaner, school janitor. The list went on. 

“I worked in a few bars. Poured drinks and served. And uh, I can work a till. Probably.” 

“Probably.” Woman repeated flatly. She wiped the already clean counter with a cloth. 

“We need a barista. Morning, mostly. Five AM start. You any good with that?” 

“Yeah, shouldn’t be an issue.” 

She gave a short, humourless laugh. “Can you operate a coffee machine?” 

“Maybe. I am a fast learner.” Sid felt a bit odd. The phrase tasted pathetic in his mouth but he wasn’t lying either. 

“Claire.” 

“Uh…Sid. Sidney. Jenkins…Sidney Jenkins, M’am.” 

Claire studied him longer this time. The silence was filled by the gurgle of the coffee machine and the hiss of the milk steamer. And constant typing of restless students. 

“Minimum wage,” she said firmly. “No sick pay for the first three months. If you’re late once, you’re out. You mess up and order, you pay for it. Trial shift tomorrow. Come at five thirty AM. I will train you. If you’re good, the job is yours. I am tired of doing this seven days a week.” 

It was a brutal offer. Ungenerous. But it was also a lifeline. It was something Sid needed to lessen the pressure in his chest. He would’t have to ask Tony for bus fares and food, He could buy his own. 

“Yeah,” he said, nodding enthusiastically. “Yeah, I’ll be here.” 

Claire turned back to the giant metal fridge behind her. The conversation was clearly over. The bell jangled again as Sid stepped back out into the damp Cardiff afternoon, The air felt different. It wasn’t suffocating his anymore. He had a purpose that took up space in time, and a future that extended exactly a day ahead. 

He started waking back, thinking of how to repay Tom for this. His mind was a swirl of cheap coffee stink. He’d done it though. He’d gotten a job. A shit one, but a job nonetheless. 

As he turned the corner onto his street, he saw black Mini Cooper parked outside. Tony was home. Sid’s steps slowed. He thought of Stonem’s reaction. The curled lip, the smirk, the assessment of the cafe’s name, the prediction of inevitable impending doom. 

But for once, the thought didn’t destroy him, because Sid Jenkins would be somewhere earning money. He would be doing it with his own two hands and for now, that was a type of armour. 

He took a deep breath, the air smelling of wet pavement and distant fryers. He took out his phone and sent a message to Tom.
“Thank you. Again.” 

***

The click-clack behind Tony’s door stopped the moment Sid’s key turned in the lock. The silence that followed was heavier than the noise. Sid paused in the hallway, the damp from outside still hanging to Tom’s clothes on him. He could feel the attention like a physical pressure form the other side of the door. 

He opted for the kitchen, a battlefield of dirty kitchenware. He needed a glass of water, something to do with himself. He also thought that since he would be opening a cafe, he might as well start practicing cleaning up. Maybe starting with the kitchen wouldn’t be a bad idea. As he was filling a surprisingly clean glass from the tap, Tom’s door swung open. 

“Hey!” Tom said, his face brightening and lips spreading into a warm smile. “How was it?” 

Sid took a sip, buying him a second. “Got it. Have a trial shift tomorrow at five in the morning.” 

Tom’s grind was instant. “Sick! Dude, I told you. Knew you would.” He gave Sid a light punch on the shoulder. It was easy and well, blokey. It made him think of Chris. How long has it been since he passed? “We should celebrate! I’ve got a few cans of beer. Cheap, but that’s all I can afford.” 

Before Sid could respond with anything, or take off Tom’s clothes, another door opened. Tony didn’t slam it. He never did really. He just appeared in his doorway, leaning against the frame like he was doing some time ago. He’d changed into a thin, dark T shirt and black joggers. His gaze moved from Tom’s hand, which was still in Sid’s proximity, to Sid’s face, then down to the forest green hoodie that was clearly Tom’s. 

“Celebrate what, you assholes?” Tony’s voice was conversational and light. The most dangerous one of all. He grit his teeth. Sid noticed the tension in the jaw. His muscles working extra hard. 

Tom’s smile froze. “Sid got a job. At the cafe down the road. He’s starting at five AM tomorrow” He patted Sid on the back and reached for the beanie on Jenkins’ head, when Tony’s voice cut through the air. 

“Did he now?”

Tony’s eyebrows lifted a millimetre. It was the only sign of surprise. His eyes locked onto Sid’s, bypassing Tom completely. “The lovely ‘Steamy Bean’. A great place if you wanna taste Northern line in your coffee. And they hired you on sight? They must be more desperate than this flat.” 

Sid felt the fragile pride of ten minutes ago curdle into something defensive. “They were. I was. Its a job. You fucking prick.” 

“Oh my, we’re going back to big words.” He pushed off the doorframe and took a few steps into the kitchen, the space narrowing around him. He addressed Tom, but his eyes never left Sid. “You are a great Samaritan, Thomas. Bravo. Really. Helping out the local fauna find employment. Does your charity extend to setting the alarm for him too?” 

“Oh my fucking God, Tony. Can you just cut the bullshit? What’s wrong with you? Why can’t you just be a decent human being for one minute? Is that so fucking difficult for you? What are you so scared of? That he’s suddenly going to be better than you?” Tom kept going and pierced Tony right through.

The silence after Tom’s words was absolute. A vacuum that sucked the sound from the room. The hum of the fridge seemed to stop. Sid could hear his own heartbeat. Seeing Tom’s outburst like that was new. One, he didn’t know him that well, but in the time he spent around him, Tom definitely didn’t come across as someone with short temper. Two, Tony’s reaction was strange. 

He had gone very still. The casual lean was gone, replaced by a terrifying rigidity. The spark of fury in his eyes didn’t harden, it cooled into something more calculating. A slow, cruel smile touched his lips, utterly devoid of warmth. 

“Scared?” Tony repeated, his voice soft, venomous drip. He took another step forward, now fully in the kitchen, forcing Tom to take a half-step back. “That’s an interesting psychological projection. I think getting a minimum wage job at a shitty cafe with a health rating of 0 is still pretty far from being on my level. Tell me, is this the part where your saviour complex morphs into a full-blown romantic fantasy? You fix the broken, he looks at you with those sad, puppy-dog eyes, and you get to feel like a hero for five minutes before he inevitably shits on your floor?” 

“Fuck off, Tony.” Tom’s eyes roll. He stepped forward, only a few inches away from Tony’s face. “We can share a friend, you know that, right?” 

Sid put the mug down. The sound cut the tension in the filthy kitchen. He put his hand on Tony’s shoulder. Stonem didn’t flinch at the contact. He didn’t even look at Sid’s hand. He simply went perfectly still, as if the touch had turned him to stone. All the simmering, calculated malice in his expression smoothed into a blank mask. The cruel smile vanished. 

He slowly turned his head to look at Sid. His blue eyes were like arctic ice. Cold, piercing and mesmerising. 

“Take your hand off me, twat,” he said, his voice so quiet it was almost a whisper. Yet, it cut through the room sharper than Tom’s shouting had. 

It wasn’t a request, it was a warning. 

Sid removed his hand, feeling like he’d touched a live wire. The air crackled. His best friend was a truly bizarre specimen of a human. Tony turned his gaze back to Tom, but the energy was different. The fight has been leeched out of it, replaced by something colder. Tom sharing a friend wasn’t an issue, it was the presumption. 

“A friend,” Tony echoed, the word dripping with disdain and hate. “How…dramatic of you.” He took a step back, creating distance. He was extracting himself from their messy entanglement. “By all means, Thomas. Enjoy your new buddy. I am sure the conversations will be fascinating. A meeting of like-minded idiots.” He glanced straight at the filthy kitchen, with plates towering up by the sink. “You can bond over scrubbing pans.” 

He was writing them off as insignificant. Just like always. 

Then he focused on Sid. His voice dropped again, becoming intimate and venomous. “I expect silence until I choose to wake up. And since your friend is clearly invested in your success, he can be responsible for ensuring you don’t fail.” 

With that, he turned and walked back to his room. He didn’t look back. The door behind him closed with a soft, but a final thud that vibrated through the floorboards. The silence in the kitchen was now hollow and desperate. Tom let out a shaky breath, running a hand over his face.

“Well, that was…”

“Yeah.” Sid cut him off, his own voice drained. Tony’s reaction was worse than any shouting match. It felt like door slamming shut in a place Sid hadn’t even known was still open. The celebration was not just dead, it felt obscene. The hoodie Tom gave him now felt like a flag of rebellion. 

“I think I m just gonna go sleep. Thanks for…you know.” 

Yeah,” Tom said, sounding defeated. “No problem. I will clean everything here.” 

Sid trudged back to Tony’s door. He paused, his hand on the knob. For stupid second, he thought about knocking. 

The room was dark except for the cold blue light from Tony’s laptop screen. He was at his desk again, like always. Typing his life away. He didn’t acknowledge Sid. Sid didn’t speak. He went to his sleeping bag, the island on the gray carpet. As he sat down, he saw it. Placed neatly in the centre of his rolled-up sleeping bag was the ugly, travel clock. 

Tony had been in here. He placed it there. Sid picked it up. It was cold. He set it beside him, the loud tick suddenly audible in the room, syncing with the vicious tap of Tony’s keyboard. 

No words. No eye contact. 

He got up slowly. Tony didn’t stop typing, didn’t lift his eyes from the screen to look at him. Sid stood behind the chair. They both froze for a split second, before Sid leaned down and slid his arms around Tony’s shoulders from behind in a clumsy, tight hold, his chest pressing against the back of the chair. He buried his face in a crook of Tony’s neck. He smelled like expensive laundry detergent and him. Just him. 

Tony went absolutely rigid. He didn’t breathe. 

Sid’s voice was a low, rough murmur against his skin, meant for no one else in the world. “Just so you know, I appreciate what you’ve done for me. I m not disappearing again, prick.” 

For one heartbeat, two, Tony didn’t move. His hand came up and clumped over Sid’s wrist where it crossed his chest. His grip was desperate. Not to pull him off, but anchor him there. It lasted a few seconds before Tony’s hand snapped away if burned. 

“Get off,” he snarled, the sound low and guttural. Sid let go, stepping back. The space where his chest had pressed against the chair felt cold. Tony still didn’t turn. His breathing as shallow and controlled. His fingers a white knuckled fist on his desk. 

“Set the alarm,” Tony said finally, his voice raw. “Four-fifteen. And if you’re late…” 

He didn’t finish, stood abruptly, the chair screeching. Without a glance, he went to his bed, got in and turned his back. The laptop list died, plunging the room into a darkness broken only by the clock’s faint green glow. Sid listened, set the alarm and laid down. The angry silence and the clock’s ticking counting down to a morning already felt like a sentence. 

Chapter Text

Tony Stonem’s world was a system of perfect, interlocking parts. Lecture timetables were algorithms for optimal exposure and minimal effort. His social interactions were scripts, their outcomes predictable from a mile away. Even the chaos of the flat with Caleb’s bong water stagnating in a pint glass, Rhys’s rancid gym kit fermenting by the radiator in the living room, a background hum of stupidity he could tune out. Thomas was the least problematic, but lately he started annoying Tony. 

Tony had been awake for forty minutes. He knew because he had watched the pale, digital numbers on the clock  flip from 5:20 to 6. He had not moved. The pre-dawn light, gray and watery bled through the blind. Sid was gone. 

The snoring, the space he occupied, even the sheer presence of him was a problem.

With Maxxie, it had been clean. A fun hypothesis of can he be with a man. A clear result: he could but with no particular need. It was an extension of his own reach, another proof of his versatility. It was about Maxxie’s beauty as an object and his own power as the subject. A closed tidy loop. Something for him to control so wonderfully in the moment. 

Sid Jenkins, however, was a syntax error. An open wound. 

He was not beautiful like Maxxie or Michelle. He was a collection of sharp angles, a chronic bad posture and sarcastic tone. Sid smelled like cheap coffee and AXE under Tom;s awful berry scented detergent. He was a study in failure, a monument to bad decisions. And he was the only thing in Tony’s meticulously curated world that could not be predicted, controlled or filed away. At least not anymore. 

The hug at the airport has been a catastrophic systems failure. A cascading series of emotional buffer overflows that resulted in a complete, humiliating crash. He felt his own composure crack like ice, and for three minutes and fifteen seconds (he counted in the car, with his hands shaking on the wheel), he has been nothing, but a slave to his emotions and desires. 

He had cried into Sid’s neck. His breakdowns could be counted on one hand. And this was an awful addition. 

The worst part, the unforgivable part was the relief. The groundbreaking, soul-emptying relief of having him back. Real, alive, under his hands. His wonderful brown hair, all grown out into an awkward mullet peaking from under the beanie. Tony hated stupid beanies. Sid’s frame, his voice. All of it just felt like a dream. 

It was weakness. A fatal dependency. 

The memory was a hot spike behind his eyes. He closed them, but the imprint remained. The feel of Sid’s jacket under his fingers, the shocking heat of his own tears, the way his entire body had tried to vibrate itself apart. It was a vulnerability so profound he felt like dying. And Sid had just…held him. Had taken it and absorbed that meltdown without flinching. He had always been there, a predictable fixture. Sid was a sponge, soaking up the toxic waste of his emotional failures and still. Somehow, looking at him like he was worth the contamination. That was driving him the entire time. It was just them together. Sid’s obvious desire to be like Tony, to be around him, to breathe the same air and walk the same streets. And it felt good, because it meant control. It meant possession. But after such a long time apart, it was no longer that same feeling. 

He needed to recalibrate. To re-establish the hierarchy of their universe. He needed to prove to himself that the variable of Sid could be managed. That the dependency was an illusion. 

He needed to separate himself. The plan formed with pristine clarity. Ella from his Political theory module. She was pretty and smart enough to be a plausible accessory, but not smart enough to be a threat. She’d been flicking her eyes toward him for about three weeks. He’d been ignoring her. Sid was taking up a lot of his time and he had to change that. Now, he would deploy her. 

He spent the morning in a state of perfect, focused stillness. He attended a lecture, took notes in precise manner. He exchanged three perfectly judged sentences with Ella in the hallway afterwards, creating just enough intrigue to make the later text (“Library is horrible. There is a decent cafe near mine if you actually want to get the essay done”) seem like a spontaneous offer. 

She agreed. Of course. Who wouldn’t? A perfect first-class student suggested to study together. The predictability was soothing. 

Tony timed their arrival at the Steamy Bean for the near end of Sid’s shift. He needed Sid to be tired, to be stripped of all his defences. He guided Ella to the table with the clearest sight to the counter. Sid was there, hair stuck to his forehead with sweat, navy apron already stained, refilling the industrial grinder. He looked up and froze. 

Tony saw it. The flicker of shock, then the immediate overwhelming sadness in his eyes. It was a direct hit. Tony felt a vicious thrill. 

Tony waved at him innocently. Ella smiled. Sid walked finished with the grinder and walked  over to take their order. His fingers were trembling, and he felt like death. Tony looked right through him, treating him with polite indifference. 

“Ill have a flat white. And a soy matcha latte for the lady.” Tony didn’t smirk. He just stated it, with his blue eyes blank as he turned back to Ella. “What were you saying about the referendum?” 

“Fancy seeing you here, Tone. We don’t stock soy milk. Or matcha. Should I get you something else then?” Sid smirked. 

That was unexpected. A spike in the readout. Tony anticipated anger, or hurt, or blank defeat. Not this performative coolness. It was a cheap imitation of his own armour. Of his own tactics. The thrill curdled, soured by the spike of irritation. Sid was trying to play his game. 

“Water’s fine,” Ella said quickly, sensing the strange change in the air, but misreading it entirely. “Sparking. Thanks.” 

Tony kept his eyes on Sid, allowing a fractional smile. “A flat white and a sparking water. Can you manage that, or shall I write it down for you?” 

“I remember your order, Tony,” he said, the name a deliberate, ultimate weapon. “Flat white and a sparkling water. Coming right up.” 

He turned and walked back to the machine, leaving Tony frozen at the table. 

The thrill was gone completely. Annihilated. In its place was a white noise roar in Tony’s ears. He watched Sid’s hands. They were steadier now, moving with a grin efficiency. Each movement was a silent “fuck you.” Sid didn’t look at them again. He became a machine, a server, exactly the role Tony wanted to assign him. But seeing it enacted was wrong. He forced his attention back to Ella. He realised he hadn’t moved, hadn’t breathed. He manufactured a smile, a weak one. 

The drinks arrived, delivered by a younger employee. Sid vanished into the back. 

“He seemed a bit…intense,” Ella ventured, sipping her water. 

“Who?” Tony asked, taking a slow sip of the coffee. It was bitter. Sid’s sabotage or is the coffee really just shit there? 

“Your friend. The glasses one.” 

“Right.” 

“It’s a shame. He’s a cute.” 

The word hung in the air between them. Cute. It was such a small stupid word. An assessment. An evaluation. It turned Sid from a problem, a stray into a prospect. For someone else. Ella had looked at the hunched, angry, tired guy and seen something cute. Tony’s mind went blank, a screen of static white. All his intricate reasoning shattered under the weight of a single casual observation that wasn’t even his. 

He took another sip of the coffee. It was ash in his mouth. 

“Cute,” he repeated, his voice flat, tasting it like foreign object. He forced a smile. “If you like the drowned puppy look, I suppose. Its mostly just poor personal hygiene and terminal lack of ambition.” 

He was talking too much. Ella just shrugged and a faint blush on her cheeks became slightly brighter. 

“Sorry, I meant…Never mind.” 

But it was too late. Tony minded. The experiment was contaminated. Ella’s comment had introduced a new variable - externally appraisal. Sid was not just his problem he managed in private. He was a person other could look at and find him cute. 

The rest of their so called study session was a pantomime. Tony’s responses grew shorter and his smile more brittle. He cut it short after just about twenty minutes, blaming a headache. Ella looked confused and concerned, but he was already gathering his things, his movements sharp. 

The walk back to the flat was cold, silent autopsy. He hadn’t re-established control with Sid, he publicly showcased the one thing he couldn’t control and then been forced to listen to it be evaluated by a third party. He felt stripped bare. 

He let himself into the silent flat. The quiet felt strange. All three of his roommates were gone at university. He went to his room, sat on his bed. 

All he could see was Sid’s face. I remember your order, Tony. 

Tony had wanted to reduce him to a function, and Sid had accepted the role with a terrifying, absolute finality. It wasn’t victory. It was a surrender so complete, it might as well be death. And then, the key in the lock. 

Tony didn’t move. He listened to the shuffle of Sid’s feet, the sigh that seemed to come from the bones. He heard the pause outside the door too. Then it swung open, Sid stood there, still in his uniform, smelling of stale coffee. He looked at Tony with empty gaze, then threw his attention to the unrolled sleeping bag. 

“I am gonna get my stuff,” Sid said, voice flat. “I am moving to the living room.” 

There either was. Not an angry declaration, not a pleading question. Tony slowly swivelled on his bed. He kept his expression neutral, a blank mask. 

“Sofa…” He repeated. “Caleb jacked off on it last Friday. But sure, suit yourself.” 

It was a weak jab, an attempt to pollute the idea, to make Sid flinch. Sid didn’t even blink. 

“I’ll take my chances,” he said, and walked over to the sleeping bg. 

This was the violation. Tony watched, paralysed for a second. He didn’t look at Tony. Bent down, grabbed the nylon and began to roll it. 

“Didn’t you say you’re not disappearing again?” Tony didn’t believe his own voice. His mind, usually a fountain of cutting remarks was a desert. All he could do was watch the act of his own failure. His expression was blank. Sid looked up at him. His eyes confused and dark. So dark even the gloomy light from the window didn’t hit them. He fixed his glasses. Tony moved on his own. He leaned down and grabbed Sid by the neck. Long messy hair hugged Tony’s cold fingers. Sid didn’t move away. He went perfectly still, like a rabbit in a snare. Stonem’s fingers were freezing against the hot skin of his neck. The pressure wasn’t painful, but absolute. 

Tony’s own breathing was shallow and ragged. He was looking at Sid’s face from inches away. The smudges under his eyes, the faint scar by his brow from a long-ago fight, the parted lips. All cut and chapped. His expression unreadable. All the intricate points of Sid Jenkins, reduced to a single overwhelming thought - Mine. 

His mind, the brilliant calculating machine offered no analysis or strategy. It just screamed. 

Tony’s grip tightened, not to hurt but to guide. He used it to pull Sid forward, just a fraction, closing the gap between them. 

And then he kissed him. 

It wasn’t gentle. It wasn’t romantic. It was a collision. Desperate, clumsy press of lips, all teeth and panic and the sour aftertaste of that horrible coffee. A physical assertion of the truth he couldn’t speak - You are not leaving. You are mine. You are here. 

For one eternal second, Sid was rigid and unresponsive. Tony felt the impending doom, he miscalculated, he’d … but then Sid made a sound. A low, choked noise in the back of his throat. Then he kissed him back. It was messy, angry, hungry. Sid’s hands came up, not to push Tony away but to fist desperately into his shirt, twisting the fabric, and holding on as if he was drowning. His glasses knocked awkwardly against Tony’s cheek. 

This felt nothing like kissing Maxxie or Michelle. Or anyone for that matter. This was a forest fore. This was the syntax error consuming the entire code of his mind. This was an open wound pressing against salt. 

Tony’s other hand came up, cupping Sid’s face, his thumb rough against his cheekbone, trying to hold him still. He could feel Sid’s heart hammering against his own chest, a frantic rhythm. 

It was too much and it also wasn’t enough. Sid broke it first wrenching his head back. His lips were red, his glasses askew, his eyes wide and terrified, He stared at Tony, his breath burning hot and frantic. 

“What…” he gasped, voice wrecked. “What the actual fuck, Tony?” 

He didn’t answer. He was staring at Sid’s mouth. The reality of what he’d just done blazing between them. His mind was a howling void. No deflection, no metaphors, no comebacks. Nothing. He had only the terrifying truth hanging in the air and the cold dread of what came next. He didn’t let go of Sid’s neck. 

“Tone?” Murmured Sid. His eyes sparked with so many questions. His expression gone soft and it felt like he was about to cry. Sid reached to fix his glasses. Tony reached and took them off. The world for Sid must have blurred, but Tony’s face remained in sharp, devastating focus, inches away from his own. He held the glasses loosely. 

Sid blinked, his naked eyes wide. 

“Tony…” he breathed again, the name a question, a plea and an accusation all at once. But he said it with so much softness. It was the one thing Tony knew how to weaponise in others, but could not survive when turned on himself. It was the vulnerability he’d just kissed, and it was going to destroy him. 

His grip on Sid’s neck shifted, his fingers sliding up to cup the base of his skull, a possessive gesture. His other hand, holding the glasses, trembled. He had something to say. He had to recode this catastrophe. His mind scrabbled for phrases, but only found ugly truth. 

“Shut up,” Tony whispered. His voice ragged, broken. It held no command. It was a confession. “Just…shut up.” 

And then he kissed him again. 

This time it wasn’t a collision. It was less desperate, more devastating. A slow, searching press of his mouth against Sid’s, a silent, furious answer to every unasked question. This was it. This was the fucking problem. 

He felt Sid shudder against him. A sigh escaped into Tony’s mouth. Warm and surrendering. Sid’s hands, which had been fisted in his shirt, loosened and flattened against his chest, then slid up to clutch at his neck. 

For a few heartbeats, there was nothing but warm, shared breath and a taste of coffee and despair. 

Tony pulled back just far enough to rest his forehead against Sid’s, their noses brushing. His eyes were closed. He couldn’t look at him. He slowly, carefully, slid Sid’s glasses back onto his face. Then he let him go completely, and sat back up. He turned towards the window,  ran a hand through his hair. 

“Don’t,” he said, the word a quiet fracture in the silence. 

Chapter Text

“Fuck you, asshole. You don’t get to tell me shit after what you’ve just pulled,” Sid was fuming, each word coming out with pent up malice. 

Tony shifted his position, facing away from Sid’s persistent gaze. The words were just a blur. His jaw tightened. 

“It was a mistake, twat.” 

“A mistake?” Sid laughed. It was sharp, not at all joyful. “You kissed me twice and now it’s a mistake? Tony, you don’t make mistakes. What was this? Another one of your fucked up experiments just to see how far you can push it this time?”

Tony finally looked at him. His face was a mask of cool detachment, but Sid could see right through it. His hands were shaking and he looked paler than usual. 

“You’ve been moping around my room like a kicked dog for weeks. Wanted to see if you’d still follow orders.” 

It was meant to hurt. And it did. Sid felt the sting right between his ribs, and it was way too familiar. His closest friend has always been an asshole. It wasn’t surprising anymore. And he knew how to deal with it throughout the years. 

“Right. And do you want me to just lie here and pretend I don’t see you lose your mind for five minutes, Mr. Stonem, sir?” Sid chuckled. This situation was so absurd. It reminded him of when Tony caught him with Michelle in a random pub’s bathroom and kissed both of them. That whole experience was hilarious now. 

Tony jumped off the bed and started walking towards the door, when Sid caught him. He firmly gripped his friend’s forearm, not letting go. Sid stood up, closing the distance. Tony turned back and his mask slipped for a split second. A flicker of irritation. 

Sid took another step closer. The sleeping bag was forgotten at his feet. 

“You sure do love a spectacle. Love pushing buttons until someone breaks. So what’s the masterplan now then? Trying to see if you could make your charity case fancy you? Fucking twat.” 

That landed. Tony’s eyes narrows, his detached expression forming into something more dangerous. 

“Ha, you think that’s what this is? My trying to make you fancy me?” He let out a laugh. Pathetic, defeated chuckle. “I didn’t take you for a narcissist.” 

“Takes one to know one.” 

For a moment, they stared at each other. Sid still gripping Tony’s forearm, refusing to let go.  Tony broke the stare off, running a hand through his hair. Sid’s eyes widened. Tony didn’t know what to do and Sid knew it. 

“Um, you should go to the living room,” Tony said, his voice quieter. “Caleb probably did jack off on the sofa, but it is better than….this.” 

This. The word hung in the air. This room. This tension. This thing they’ve done that can’t be forgotten and undone. 

But Sid didn’t move. The fight was draining out of him, replaced by stubbornness and clarity. Running away again wouldn’t fix anything. It never has. He ran to New York, and that only created more issues for him to resolve. 

“No,” Sid said confidently. 

Tony looked into his eyes, surprised. 

“I am not moving. You kissed me. You deal with it yourself.” Sid let go of Tony and sat down on the edge of the bed, deliberately invading his personal space. He picked up the ugly travel clock and tapped it a few times. The tick-tick-tick suddenly going off loud in the quiet of the room. 

“You want to experiment? Sure. Let’s experiment. See how long you can stand having me in your room after you’ve put your tongue in my mouth, asshole.” 

Tony stared him down, a mix of disbelief and anger. Sid almost never behaved this way. Not about them. 

“You’re pathetic,” Tony tried to bite back, but couldn’t. 

“Am I? You started it.” Sid laid back on the bed, hands behind his head, staring at the celling. He was shaking inside, but he’d be damned if he showed it. He could bet that Tony hated him, laying there in his pristine bed in those dirty jeans he wore to work. That alone was entertaining. “Now shut up and let me be. I had to wake up at 4AM today.”  

A long silence stretched. Sid could feel Tony’s gaze on him, burning a hole in the side of his face. He didn’t look over. 

Finally, he heard the light switch go off. The room went into darkness, even though it was around 5PM. The weather was gloomy and depressing and sun would set early. 

Tony walked over to the bed. Sid closed his eyes shut. 

“It wasn’t an experiment,” Tony’s voice was quiet and stripped bare. Sid’s heart hammered against his ribs. Another minute passed and Tony finally moved. The clock ticked, the radiator hissed. Somewhere in the flay Rhys laughed at something.The mattress dipped. Tony sat on the very edge, his back to Sid. He was so close, Sid could feel the heat of him through the chill of the room. Tony didn’t move. He just sat there, in the dark, perfectly still. 

Maybe it wasn’t an experiment after all. What was it, then? Minutes dragged. Then Tony spoke, his voice rough and flat. “You’re in my spot.” 

“Tough luck,” Sid muttered into the dark. 

Another silence. Then, movement. Tony didn’t shove him. He simply lay down. They weren’t touching, but the space between them was charged, live wire thin. The bed was a twin, and there was nowhere to go. It reminded Sid of the times he’d stay over at Stonem’s house and they’d sleep in his bed. It was fun and exciting, like something he’d only experience a few times in his life. Something Tony could take away at any moment. Sid could feel the controlled rhythm of Tony’s breathing. He was laying in Tony’s bed, wearing the day’s grime, and Tony was letting him. 

Suddenly, the door swung open, and intense warm light from the hallway spilled into the room. Rhys’s curly head peaked into it, his hair glowing like a halo around his stupid, grinning face. He let out a laugh, thick with whatever he and Caleb had been smoking.
“Bro, where the fuck is Tomster?” He said loudly, the sound piercing Sid’s ears. His eyes, gazed and slow, adjusted to the dark. “Wait, why are you two in bed? Oh, shit! Caleb!” 

Sid flinched, his body going rigid. He didn’t look at Tony, but he could feel the change in the air beside him. 

Tony didn’t jump. He didn’t even sit up. He just turned his head on the pillow, his face pale and cold. 

“Get the fuck out, Rhys.” 

His voice was low, and devoted of the usual performative bile. It was pure command. It should have worked. But it didn’t. It was Rhys after all. 

“Nah, Tony, man, this is peak! Caleb. Get your ass in here!” 

Footsteps thundered down the hall. Caleb’s bulk filled the doorway next to Rhys. A can of Monster shining in his hand. He squinted, and a slow, shit-eating grin spread across his face. 

“No way.” 

“Tonester, I didn’t know you swung that way, man. Poor Tommy is going to be so upset, it wasn’t him first.” 

Sid felt a wave of humiliation crash over him. He started to sit up, his eyes tired. 

“I am not gay, brothers. And even if I was, Tony is the last man I’d fuck.” 

Tony shifted again at the sound of Sid’s voice. He pushed himself up onto one elbow. He looked bored. 

“Is there a problem?” Tony asked, his tone now shifting into something more familiar to all of them. Mocking, intellectual, like he was talking to children. 

“No, but didn’t take you for a cuddle-bug,” said Caleb, already bored. 

Sid jumped off the bed and walked over towards the door. He squinted his eyes at the light In the hallway, and shoved Rhys to let him out the room. 

“Let’s order Pizza today. Tony’s paying,” he said to two guys, their smiles becoming even wider. They patted him on the back and dragged out the dark, gloomy room. 

“I love this guy!” Shouted Rhys, his arm slung around Sid’s shoulders as they stumbled into the bright living room. The sudden noise and light were a physical shock after the silent dark. Caleb was already scrolling on his phone, shouting about two-for-one deals. 

His heart was still hammering, a frantic counter-rhythm to the thumping bass from Rhys’s speaker. He’d done it. He was out. 

Tom emerged from the kitchen, holding a steaming mug, He looked joyful with a tint of exhaustion. It was his exam season after all. Rhys draped over Sid, Caleb chanting “Meat Feast!”

“You good?” Tom asked cheerfully. 

“Sid’s a legend,” Rhys announced, giving Sid a shake. “He says Tony’s buying us all pizza.” 

Tom’s eyebrows lifted. A small, knowing smile touched his lips. “Is he now?” 

“Hell, yeah! Gonna make it an expensive one,” Caleb grunted, not looking up from his phone. “Extra everything. This posh twat has it coming.” 

“You lot order, I gotta take to Tom real quick,” said Sid, shrugging off Rhys’s arm. Caleb started booing. Tom raised and eyebrow but didn’t question it. They went to his room and shut the door. The silent was immediate, muffled by band posters. It smelled of berries. Sid opened his mouth, but nothing came out. He didn’t know where to start. The events of the evening came flooding in and he couldn’t gather his thoughts. 

Tom broke the silence. 

“So…How was your shift?” He sipped something from the mug and sat down at his desk. Sid leaned against the door. Tom made him feel comfortable. After all his friends left school, he lost contact with most. The only one he had left was Tony, and well…He couldn’t confide in him about anything. 

“Yeah, it was something. Can’t say I enjoyed it but it wasn’t too bad. I sure do love the money,” he said lazily. He needed to start this conversation somewhere. 

“He kissed me,” Sid blurted out. The words hung in the air. Tom laughed. He laughed so hard, in fact, he had to out the mug down otherwise the liquid would go everywhere. Sid chuckled with him. 

“I am serious.” 

“Nah, no way. I don’t believe you.” Tom was trying to recover after his laughing spree. He shook his head. Sid gave him a bored look. 

“No, I am for real.It was just now. Twice.” Sid ran a hand through his hair, just like Tony does when he’s nervous. “It was a whole thing.” 

The grin faded from Tom’s face. He studied Sid. The rigid set of his shoulders, the way his eyes would wander around the room. 

“Shit. You are serious.” 

“Yeah,” he finally looked him in the eyes. “It was fucking mental. And then Rhys barged in.” 

“Hah, of course he did. Bastard.” Tom chuckled. 

“I know! So I did the only sensible thing. I told everyone I wasn’t gay and that even if I was, I’d never fuck Tony. Then volunteered his wallet for pizza.” 

Another laugh burst to of Tom. “So what’s the plan, then? You moving into the living room? You know, we could just move out and get a place of our own. Away from shenanigans.” 

Before Sid could answer. A sharp, familiar voice cut through the door. Cold and clean. 

“Jenkins.” It was Tony. “Pizza’s in twenty. My wallet’s on my desk. Since it’s your party, you can do the honours and pay.” 

A beat of silence. They both could picture him standing there. Looking menacing. 

“Don’t be a coward about it now, Sidney.” 

Footsteps retreated down the hall. 

Tom and Sid looked at each other and busted out laughing. 

“Right,” Sid said, pushing himself off the door. “Guess I am fetching the wallet.” 

“Want backup?” Tom asked, only half-joking. 

“Nah, he’d enjoy that more.” Sid opened the door. He glanced back at Tom. “Cheers.” 

As he was about to leave, he peaked into the room again. “I’ll think about your offer.” 

“Any time,” Tom said, raising his mug. “Just…try not to kiss him again before pizza gets here.” 

Sid flipped him off and stepped back into the warrone. He pushed Tony’s door open. He’d taken a step into the dark room when a shape detached itself from the wall. There was no time to react. A hand smashed into his chest, slamming him back against the door as it swung shut. The impact knocked the air from his lungs. Tony’s other hand planted on the door beside Sid’s head, caging him in. He was close enough for Sid to feel the heat coming off him, to see the wild blue glint in his eyes. 

“What the fuck do you think you’re doing?” Tony’s voice was a low, venomous snarl. Sid’s heart hammered against his ribs. He could smell Tony’s expensive shower gel and something sharper beneath it - adrenaline. “Getting your wallet, prick.” 

Tony’s face twisted. He leaned in, the pressure on Sid’s chest increasing. “Not the wallet. You’re having a shit ton of attitude with me, Sidney.” 

“Oh wow, that’s rich coming from you, Tone. Seriously?” Sid was starting to get angry. He was tired of this constant back and forth. He pushed Tony off of him. “Leave these antics in primary school. You’re a grown ass dude.” 

“Do you have a single atom of idea of what I had to live through because of you?” Tony pulled him closer. He locked him between his hands again, not letting Sid escape. 

“I watched the person I loved in secret for years, pine over random girls, not notice me at all. And then straight up leave half across the world to chase after a stupid blonde, who doesn’t care about him at all. And when I give in and let myself be weak just for one moment, you go and tell everyone. Sidney, what the fuck?” 

The words hung in the dark, sharp and suffocating as smoke. 

Sid stopped struggling. The air left his lungs for a second time, but not from the impact. From the meaning. 

I watched the person I loved in secret for years 

Tony’s face was inches from his own, his piercing blue eyes blazing with a pain so raw it looked like fury. There was no mask left. This was an exposed nerve and it was horrifying. 

All Sid could do was stare. His mind was white noise. 

“You…what?” The words were a breath, not a question. Tony’s expression twisted, like he’d just tasted something foul. He’d said it. The one thing he could never take back. This wasn’t the first time he’d said it too, but previous times it was brushed over and included someone else too. Like that time with Michelle. The rage seemed to evaporate, leaving something hollow and desperate In its wake. His grip on the door frame tightened. 

“Forget it, Sidney.” Tony muttered. He started to push away, to retreat into the dark of his room. 

“No.” Sid’s hand shot up, grabbing Tony’s wrist. He wasn’t letting him run from this. Not now. “No, you don’t get to say that and then just…forget it.” 

Tony tried to pull his arm back, but Sid held on. They were frozen again, but the energy changed. The predator was gone. Just cornered animals left, with one of them revealing its fatal weakness. 

“What do you want me to say, Sid?” Tony’s laugh was broken. He sounded pathetic and defeated. “Congratulations? You finally broke me? Is that what you and Tom are celebrating out there? 

“I didn’t tell him that,” Sid said, his own voice unsteady. Tony searched his face for something. From the living room, Caleb’s face bellowed, “Oi! Wallet or pizza, Jenkins? My stomach is eating itself!” 

The outside world was carrying on. Tony looked down where Sid’s hand was wrapped around his wrist. He didn’t pull away. When he looked back to him, his eyes were clearer but tired. 

“Take the wallet,” he said quietly, nodding towards the desk. “Go be their hero.” 

Sid didn’t let go. “Tony…” 

“Don’t,” Tony cut him off, a flicker of the old warning in his eyes. “Just don’t. Please.” 

Please? Tony didn’t say that. Ever. Sid slowly released his wrist. He walked to the desk on numb legs, and picked up the wallet. He stood there for a moment, his back to Tony, the weight of his words pressing down on him. He turned around, Tony was leaning against the door now. 

Sid didn’t know what to say. I loved you in secret too? That wasn’t true. Not in the way Tony meant it. His love for Tony was never a secret. But it was a different love too. It was admiration. For his ambition, for his looks, for his brain, for him. Even though he was an absolute prick. His love for Tony was the bedrock of their friendship. 

All he could manage was the truth. “I didn’t know.” 

Tony didn’t look up. “I know you didn’t. You never do.” 

Sid left, closing the door softly behind him. He stood in the hallway, the wallet heavy in his hand. The whole world quietly split in two. 

Chapter Text

Alarm went off at 4:15. Sid fumbled for it in the dark, his hand hitting the cold carpet. Before his fingers could reach, light exploded into the room. Harsh, almost clinical, from the lamp on Tony’s bed frame. He was awake. His black hair falling on the frosty blue eyes. He lay on his back, a thick textbook propped on his chest. The pale glow highlighted the sharp planes of his face. He didn’t look at Sid. He turned a page. The sound was like a gunshot, killing the silence. 

“It’s annoying,” Tony said, his voice rough but perfectly clear. “You should turn it off before it gives me a migraine.” 

Sid’s chest tightened. He killed the alarm and the silence that followed filled his lungs. He could feel Tony’s attention like a physical weight, a scientists observing a lab rat begin its maze. 

He slowly got up from the sleeping bag. He didn’t move to the living room. Sid knew that it meant he was running away again, and he was done with that. Even more so, he was done with Tony. He moved like a rusted machine, pulling on the jeans and shirt from yesterday. Every breath and rustle felt staged under Tony’s gaze. 

“The shirt is wrinkled, Sidney.” Tony exhaled sharply, his eyes back towards the book. 

Sid said nothing.

“You’re breathing through your mouth,” Tony continued, finally closing his textbook with a soft thud. He sat up, swinging his legs out of bed. He was wearing dark grey sweatpants and nothing else. Sid noticed. “A sign of chronic fatigue. Or a deviated septum. Given your life choices, it’s the former.” 

He stood and walked to his wardrobe, moving with an elegant, unhurried grace that made Sid’s own clumsy movements seem grotesque. He took out a crisp ironed white T-shirt. Tony just held it in his hands, when he faced Sid. 

“You have thirty-six minutes before your shift starts,” he stated, as if reading from a timetable only he could see. “Run along, Sidney. The world of minimum wage awaits.” 

Sid didn’t run. He stood still, finishing the button on his jeans. Took his time. Then, he looked directly at Tony, who was still holding the shirt like a prop. 

“You counted,” Sid said, his voice raspy from sleep but steady. 

Tony’s fingers tightened, imperceptibly, on the fabric. “What?” 

“The minutes. You counted how long I have,” Sid took a st4ep closer, not invading space, but holding his own. “You lay here in the dark, waiting for my alarm. You timed it. That’s pathetic, Tone.” 

A flicker in the frosty blue eyes. A circuit overload. “Don’t be absurd. It’s simple maths. Unlike your job, it doesn’t require a training manual. Although, I am sure your training wasn’t a whole lot to think about either.” 

“Nah,” Sid shook his head, smiling. He walked to the door, leaned against the frame, mirroring Tony’s favourite pose. He was blocking the exit, turning the cell into a shared space. “You haven’t slept at all. Thinking about it. Thinking about me. About what you said.” He let the words hang, watching Tony’s jaw tighten. Now two can play that game. “All that…this,” Sid gestured at Tony’s perfect posture, the textbook, the performance he was putting on, “is just you trying to unsay it. But you can’t. That’s not how words work.” 

Tony’s smile was a razor cut. “Impressive. Your grasp of psychoanalysis is as sophisticated as your coffee art. Now get out.” 

“Why?” Sid pushed off the doorframe, taking one more step into the room. He didn’t raise his voice. That was Tony’s game. “Scared? Scared if I leave, you’ll just lie here again tomorrow, counting? Seems like a shitty way to live, Tone.” 

Sid saw it. The second tremor in Tony’s hand before he deliberately laid the shirt over the back of his desk chair. The action was meant to look casual. It looked like he was running. Retreating,

“Well, who would’ve thought?! Sid Jenkins caring about my life of all people? Your concern is a rusty machine at that shitty workplace of yours and not being late.” 

“I care.” Sid’s agreement was blunt and unexpected. “I have always cared and will continue to do so. You’re my best friend after all.”

The silence was different now. Tony stared at him, and for the first time since Sid was at his house, the mask wasn’t one of cool disdain. It was of furious calculation, scrambling for a response that wouldn’t reveal his feelings. 

Sid didn’t wait. He turned and finally opened the bedroom door. “And for the record,” he chuckled. “I am breathing through my mouth because your room stinks like a funeral home. Clean and dead. Open the window or something.” 

He left, closing the door softly behind him. In the silent room, Tony Stonem didn’t move. The textbook lay forgotten on the bed. The white shirt seemed to mock him from the chair. And worse, the lab rat had just critiqued the design of the maze and described the smell of scientist’s own cage. The words echoed in the vacuum Sid had left behind. 

You’re my best friend after all. 

The final, gentle twist of the knife. Not a rejection, but a categorisation. Sid had taken the nuclear confusion of the kiss, the raw confession in the dark, and filed it neatly under what Tony could never argue with. Best friend. It was a life sentence. It was Sid saying, this is what we are and this is all we will ever be. 

A rough sound escaped him. A short exhale that was almost a laugh, but there was no air behind it. It was a sound of his being failing. 

His hand dropped from the chair. He slowly turned ad looked at the room. Sid’s sleeping bag, crumpled island on the grey sea of carpet. The empty space where his duffel had been. It smelled like Sid, that cheap coffee and Tom’s awful berry perfume and him - underneath it all, Tony’s own sterile detergent. Sid was right. It smelled like death. 

‘I didn’t know’ echoed in his head. Of course Sid didn’t know. He never knew. He was oblivious. It wasn’t a concern of his. He’d pined after Michelle, then chased Cassie across the ocean, he’d looked at Tony with admiration or irritation but never with tenderness. Tony felt like cracking his own ribs open. 

The jealousy was a wire in his gut. He saw it every day. Sid with Tom. His stupid curly fluffy brown hair, hazel eyes that some girls who visited their home parties were obsessed about. His easy smiles and borrowed clothes. Tony hated Tom, Not only was he good-looking, he was kind and gentle and clearly Sid prefers that idiot over him. He kissed hi to short-circuit the agony. To make it real, to make it undeniable. And what had it gotten him? Nothing. 

The pressure that had been building inside his eyes since the confession finally won. It wasn’t a sob. It was a quiet, violent rupture. 

A hot tear spilled over, tracing a path down his cheek. He didn’t make a sound. His pale face remained perfectly still, a beautiful, cold mask, even as another tear followed. He brought a hand up, not to wipe them away, but to press his fingertips hard against his closed eyelids, as if he could physically shove his emotions back in. 

It was useless. A tremor started in his shoulders;. He clenched his jaw until it ached, but a choked grasp broke through. And then another. 

He turned away from the door, from the room, presenting his back to the empty space where Sid had been just minutes prior. He slid down to sit on the edge of his bed, his elbows on his knees, face buried in his hands. The tears came on, soaking his palms, His shoulders shook with force. 

The most excruciating, humiliating, pointless thing in the world - the truth that he loved Sid. He had for years. And it was useless. Sid would never see him as anything more than Tony Stonem: the brilliant, cruel, best friend. A character in the story of Sid’s life. The one he could clearly toss aside. 

He cried for the loss of the fantasy that one day Sid would just see him. He cried for the kiss that changed everything and nothing at all. He cried because he was alone in a clean, dead room, and the only person who made him feel alive had walked out into the dawn, having finally learned to fight back by offering the one thing Tony could never accept. 

He was hollow. The tears were hollow too. He lifted his head and stared at the wall. He stood up slowly, walked to the disk where he kept a glass of water. He splashed it on his face, patted it dry with a tower, erasing the evidence. He looked at the text book on the floor, the shirt on the chair. The mess of himself. 

The pain wasn’t gone. The mask wasn’t just for Sid anymore. It was for himself also. If he couldn’t have Sid, then he had to become someone who didn’t need him. Someone who found the very idea laughable.

The Cardiff dawn was a damp and gloomy, but Sid walked through it feeling like he was breathing pure oxygen and getting high. The thrill of the fight thrummed in his veins. He’d stood his ground. He’d seen the crack in the armour. For the first time in years, maybe ever, he hadn’t felt like Tony’s lap dog. He’d felt like an opponent of equal standing. 

But as he pushed open the heavy door of the Steamy Bean, the smell of burnt coffee and bleach hitting him, adrenaline began to fade. Claire grunted a greeting, He tied his apron, the rough familiar fabric wrapped him in a tight embrace. The routine of grinding beans and steaming milk felt like a quiet space in his head. 

You’re my best friend after all. 

He’d said it to ground them. To remind Tony, and himself, of the only solid thing in the storm of the events of the previous weeks. The kiss, the confession…

His hands moved automatically as he wiped down he counter. The memory of the kiss, which he’d been shoving into a mental box labeled “Tone’s Latest Mind Fuck’, pried the lid open. 

It hadn’t felt like a mind fuck. It had felt desperate. Clumsy. Real. It felt…Almost passionate. The press of Tony’s lips against his hadn’t been calculated. It had been a collision. Raw emotion. And when Sid kissed him back, it hadn’t felt like a rebellion. It had felt like a relief. Coming up for air after years of draining in something he hadn’t even known was water. 

A customer approached. Sid took the order for a latte, his mind elsewhere.
He loves me. 

The thought wasn’t a romantic glow. It was terrifying. Stonem, who dissected the world for fun and treated people like puppets, was governed by a feeling. For him. The screw up Sid Jenkins. 

And the fucked up thing was that Sid understood it. He’d always loved Tony. Not in the same way, he’d never let himself think of it. Tony was Tony. He was the sun everyone else orbited around, the standard Sid failed to meet, the voice in his head critiquing his every move. He loved him because Tony was incredible. He was spectacular and beautiful in a way that was almost offensive. Even when he was being a first-class asshole, there was a terrifying genius to it. 

Sid loved him with the helpless, furious devotion of a disciple. He’d wanted to be him, and failing that, to be near him. He’d tolerated the cruelty because he thought it was the letter of admission to Tony’s world. 

But what if the cruelty wasn’t the point? 

The coffee machine hissed. Sid poured the shot, his mind reeling. 

He liked the kiss. He didn’t think he would. He’d liked the feel of Tony’s hands on his neck. Possessive, confident and honest. He’d liked the taste of him, bitter and uniquely Tony’s. It had felt more real than any kiss with Cassie ever had. She had been a dream, an idea. Tony was a fucking twat. 

“Sidney, you’re burning milk.” Claire’s voice cut through. 

He fumbled with the steamer. “Shit. Sorry. Shit.” 

He remade the drink, cheeks hot. This was mental. Tony’s chaos infecting him. Tony loved him, and had kissed him, and probably plotting how to eviscerate him. 

And Sid…Missed him. Not the performative asshole, but the Tony who had hugged him at the airport. Tony who left clean clothes int he dark without a word. Tony who was there for him since the very beginning. Tony who was by his side when his father died. Tony who held him when he was breaking down. 

He finished his shift in a daze. The walk back to the flat was slower, heavier. The thrill was gone, replaced by a confused ache. 

Chapter Text

For four weeks, it hadn’t been the loud, angry aftermath of the fight. It was thick and suffocating in that flat. In that room. Sid’s sleeping bag remained a permanent situation on the gray carpet, but the space between the bed and the desk felt like a prison cell, carefully patrolled by unspoken rules and the constant clicks of the Tony’s keyboard. 

Sid had gotten his first paycheck from the Steamy Beans. It felt like freedom in his back pocket. Claire paid him cash, neatly tucked in a white envelope. He wasn’t sure how legal that was but he had done so much illegal shit as a teenager, it hadn’t concerned him. 

“Sidney! Over here!” 

Tom was leaning against a greasy lamppost outside, color turned up against the damp, a wide, easy smile on his face. He looked like a big glob of sunshine that was so rare in Cardiff. His hair almost glowing. Sid couldn’t help but smile back. He picked up the pace and waked over. 

“You look half dead, mate. Perfect state for our little celebration,” Tom said, clapping him on the shoulder. 

“Right. Sorry for having a job. Maybe you should get one too.” Sid laughed. He watched as Tom’s lips stretched in a  typical for him half-smile that he did when Sid annoyed him. 

“You’re a wanker!” Tom clapped Sid on the back with a bit of force behind it. “Come on, I know a place. It’s shit, but the pints are super cheap.” 

Few minutes later, after bantering about who smelled more like death, they got to a pub called “Vulcan Lounge” that won that competition. Like advertised, it was shit, but noisy and warm in a comforting way. And most importantly, it was not the flat. 

They claimed a corner booth. Tom returned from the bar with two pints of something amber and a bag of salty crisps. 

“Should I call Rhys and Caleb?” Tom asked, already envisioning the chaos they would create. Especially if Sid was paying. 

“Yeah, fuck it.” Sid chuckled, tugging the pint glass closer. The wooden table was sticky and greasy with unknown substance. Disgusting. Tom made a quick call and the boys were on the way. 

“Well, shall we? To gainful employment,” Tom said, raising his glass. 

“To not getting fired yet,” Sid countered, clinking his against it. 

The first pint went down fast, washing the coffee taste from Sid’s mouth. The second one settled into a warm, buzzing glow. Tom was easy to talk to. He made stupid jokes about the customers, listened without the intense, analytical weight that Tony brought to every conversation. The third pint was half gone when he pub door banged open, letting in a blast of damp, cool air and the roaring chaos of Caleb and Rhys, that could be heard even in a packed room. 

“THE MEN OF THE HOUR!” Caleb screamed, his voice cutting through the hum. He jumped into their booth like a missile, Rhys stumbling and grinning behind him. 

“Tommy said you’re buying, Jenkins,” Rhys announced, sliding into the bench, immediately stealing a handful of crisps. “So we are here to assists in the liquidation of your assets.” 

“Wow! Big words, man. Where do you know them from?” Tom chuckled, and took another sip. 

“Are you having a laugh? I am doing Econ.” Rhys slapped Tom on the back. Sid smiled. Their loud, stupid energy was a welcome tsunami after the silence of the flat. It didn’t demand anything from him. 

Caleb went over tot the bar and returned a few minutes later with a round of shots, something clear and ominous. He then ran over to bring more pints. 

“To Sid! For proving even the most hopeless of us can enter the capitalist machine!” He toasted. 

They drank. The shot burned a path of fire down Sid’s throat, searing away the last of his coherence. The night blurred into a pleasant, noisy haze. Caleb told a long story about setting microwave on fire. Tom laughed, a real, unfiltered sound that made his eyes crinkle, and kept subtly pushing a glass of water towards Sid between pints. Sid liked Tom. Really liked Tom. He was kind and funny, and he was nothing like Tony. He wasn’t cold, and apathetic. He wasn’t insulting Sid all the time and sure as hell he didn’t confess his love for Sid in the most stupid way imaginable. Even when he wasn’t there, Tony managed to ruin his mood. But, another glance at his new friends made Sid forget he was Sid Jenkins. He wasn’t the boy who ran to New York or the ghost sleeping on Tony’s floor. He was just one of the lads, buying rounds, taking the piss, his laughter loud and unselfconscious. The weight in his chest, the one that had been there since the confession, since the airport, since…his dad -  lifted. Not gone, but forgotten. Just for a little bit. He felt normal. Or what he imagined normal might feel like. 

Much later they stumbled out into the cold night. Caleb and Rhys veered off towards a kebab shop, their shouts fading into the fog. Tom slung a steadying arm around Sid’s shoulders. 

“You good?” Tom asked, his own speech slightly slurred, but his steps surprisingly steady. He drank way too much. His cheeks rosy, ears flaming red. 

“Yeah,” Sid said, and for a moment he almost meant it. The night breeze was sobering and harsh. “Thanks for tonight, mate. Seriously.” 

“Of course, any time.” 

They walk the rest of the way in companionable silence. When they’ve opened the flat door, they were hit with an unbearable quiet. It was like a mausoleum. 

Tom paused at his door, the flow from his band posters visible through the crack. “Don’t let the Ice Prince freeze your bollocks off,” he whispered, giving Sid’s shoulder a final squeeze. “If anything, run to me.” 

“No promises,” Sid mumbled back, the smile fading from his face. 

He turned. The door of Tony’s room seemed to be just as cold as he was. Familiar dread. It felt like walking towards his own execution. He pushed the door open. 

It was dark. Only the typical blue light of Tony’s laptop screen cut the darkness. He was there, at his desk, posture perfect, typing with rhythmic clicks. He didn’t look up. 

Sid moved to his sleeping bag. He had no will to shower, and he was too drunk to do anything at all. The smell of beer clang to him like a stain. He closed his eyes and drifted off. 

Then, the ring. 

Tony’s phone glowed on the desk. Tony stared at it for two full rings before answering. Sid got woken up by the sudden noise, but couldn’t open his eyes all the way. 

“Stonem speaking.” 

A beat. 

“Mom, wait. Slow down.” 

Sid sat up, sobering fast. Tony was pacing around the room, his free hand pressed against his forehead. 

“Where is she now?” 

A longer pause. Tony’s face went terrifyingly blank. 

“Is she conscious? Mom?” 

Effy. 

Tony listened, jaw tight. “Right. I’ll be there. Just text me which hospital.” 

He hung up, placed the phone down on the desk, and stood still. 

“Tone?” 

His voice was hollow. “Effy. She got into a fight, They are keeping her overnight.” 

He turned to look at Sid, and for the first time in weeks, there was no mask. Just raw, wide eyes fear.
“I need to go home.” 

Sid was already on his feet, the last of the alcohol fog burned away by the reality of Tony’s fear. He gave his shoulder a final, firm squeeze, a touch that felt grounding, before turning to grab his trainers from beside the sleeping bag. Tony didn’t move. He stood in the middle of the room, staring blankly at the wall as if he could see through it to the hospital bed. The frantic energy from the call had coiled inward, leaving him still. 

Sid laced his shoes, the movements quick and confident. “Got your keys, Tone?” 

The question seemed to jumpstart Tony. He blinked, his gaze snapping back into the room. He nodded, and strode to his desk. Yanked a drawer open, he pulled out his car keys, and pocketed his phone. Didn’t grab a coat. 

“Tony, jacket,” Sid said, nodding toward the dark hoodie slung over the chair. Stonem snatched it up but didn’t put it on, just bundled it under his arm. They moved through the dark like ghosts. Tom’s door was shut, but there was a thin glow. Sid gently knocked. There was no response. Idiot must’ve forgotten to turn the light off. Sid quickly sent him a text: “Gone to Bristol with Tony. Will be back soon.” 

The night air was damp. Black Mini Cooper sat under the rain. Tony slipped into the driver’s seat, his movements precise but tense. Sid got in the passenger side, the smell of the car leather, Tony’s cologne and a faint hint of stale coffee. Strangely familiar. 

Tony started the engine, it roared. He didn’t put the car in gear. Just sat there for a moment, his hands gripping the steering wheel, his knuckles pale. He was staring straight ahead, but Sid could see his chest rising and falling in shallow breaths. He was trying to keep himself together, to build Tony Stonem who could handle this. 

“Just drive, Tone,” Sid said softly, breaking the silence. “We will figure this out on the way.” 

Tony gave a single nod, shoved the car into gear and pulled onto the empty street. 

The city bled away quickly, replaced by the dark, rolling hills and the relentless gray ribbon of the highway. They didn’t say a word. But it wasn’t an angry silence like the past weeks, but a pressurized bubble containing only the hum of the engine and the controlled breathing. 

Sid watched him. In the greenish glow of the dashboard, Tony’s profile was all angles and tension. He looked very similar to his 17 year old self. But his nose got more defined, cheeks got more hollow. His lips twitched with anxiety and his icy blue eyes hyperfocused on the road. Sid could see the frantic pulse in his temple. He was driving with a terrifying efficiency. Every lane change was calculated, speed adjustment deliberate. IT was the control freak’s last stand, channeling his inner panic into the single manageable task of piloting a tonne of metal through the night. 

Suddenly, Tony muttered, “Thanks.”

The word was barely audible. Almost lost in the hiss of wet tires on asphalt. Sid didn’t acknowledge it. He knew better. To highlight it would be to shatter the fragile truce. He just shifted slightly in his seat, letting his shoulder press a fraction more firmly against the car door. 

They crossed into Bristol, the familiar skyline a dark silhouette against the cloudy night. Tony navigated the city streets with a grim, automatic precision, each turn taking them deeper into memories Sid had tried to forget. 

“Can you get my phone out of the pocket and check if my mom texted the hospital info?” 

Tony muttered again. His voice weak and shaky. Sid turned to look at him again. He was far too pale, and the green glow and him seem like a walking corpse. He reached for the phone in Tony’s front pocket. As he touched his thigh, he could feel Tony tense up all his muscles. Sid took the phone out, and looked at the notifications. 

“Yeah, Bristol Royal Infirmary. She’s in room 7B.” 

Tony swung into the nearly empty visitors’ car park, the tiers crunching on wet gravel. He killed the engine. The silence that followed was denser than before, filled with the impending reality of what lay behind the car doors. Tony was rebuilding himself. Sid could see it happening in the set of his jaw, the slow straightening of his spine. The Tony who walked into the hospital had to be in control. He had to be articular, demanding, brilliant and relatable. A protective brother and a genius son, not a scared boy. 

He finally unbuckled his seatbelt with a click, and reached for the door handle, but paused. His hand hovered over for a second, before he turned his head.
“You can wait here,” he said. His voice was barely heard, but the old command was creeping back in. It wasn’t an offer of comfort, it was a chance for Sid to avoid an emotional scene to come. But he just looked at him, one eyebrow slightly raised, 

“Tone, seriously?” 

“Whatever.” 

They got out of the car simultaneously, the doors thudding shut like thunder. The rain was a cold mist that beaded on their hair. Tony didn’t hesitate. He strode towards the glaring electric doors of A&E, his pace brisk, head high. 

Sid fell into step beside him, not a pace behind. Together, they walked through the damp night. 

They walked into a harshly illuminated hall of the emergency unit. Tony walked to the reception desk. “Effy Stonem,” he said, his voice clear, cutting through the low hum. “She was brought in earlier. Mu mother should be here.” 

“And…who are you, Mister…?” 

“Stonem…I am her brother” 

“Second floor. 7B. Visitors hours are over, but I will make an exception.” She waved a hand, already looking past him to the next person. 

“Thanks,” Tony said, turning to the lifts.

Sid watched their reflections. Tony pale and tense, staring straight ahead. Himself was rumpled and standing too close. He watched Tony’s hand flex at his side, fingers curling into a loose fist before dropping. 

The doors opened. They found 7B. 

Tony stopped just outside. Sid saw him close his eyes for a fraction of a second, final private fortification. Then he pushed the door open. 

Effy was in bed, propped up on pillows. One side of her face was a spectacular canvas of bruising blooming from her temple down to her jaw. Her right wrist was encased in a bulky cast. Her eyes, same piercing blue, opened, but unfocused. 

“Tony,” Mrs Stonem’s voice was a relieved sigh. She stood, her eyes flicking to Sid with a polite surprise. “Sidney! You both came.” 

Tony was already across the room. He didn’t hug him mother. He went straight to bed, his movements suddenly less sure. He reached out, his hand hovering over before he gently brushed a strand of dark hair away from Effy’s forehead. 

“You look so shitty,” he said, his voice softer than Sid had heard in forever. Effy’s eyes focused on him slowly. A ghost of a smile touched her swollen lips. “Fuck off.”

Then her gaze shifted to Sid in the doorway. Her eyebrows twitched, a faint flicker of recognition. “Brought your guard dog.” She breathed our, her eyes closed again. 

Tony’s hand stilled on her hair. He looked from his sister’s battered face to his mother’s exhausted one, then finally, his gaze found Sid across the quiet room. Sid was there. In Bristol, In this hospital room. And he hadn’t left. He didn’t know what he was doing. His body moved on its own. He stepped away from the bed, movement too abrupt. “Need some air,” he muttered, not meeting his mother’s questioning look. 

Tony crossed the room in three long strides, shoes silent on the linoleum. He didn’t look at Sid as he passed him, but his hand shot out, fingers closing like a vice around Sid’s wrist. 

He yanked him out of the room, pulling the door shut behind them with a soft, yet definitive click that sealed away the quiet family drama. The hospital corridor was a fluorescent lit tunnel, empty and white. Antiseptic. 

Tony pulled Sid a few stumbling steps away from the door, then pivoted, slamming him against the wall. The impact was a solid, knocking a soft breath from Sid’s lungs. 

But it wasn’t the act of violence. Rather an act of collapse. 

As soon as Sid’s back hit the wall, Tony’s own frame seemed to fold. The rigid control disappeared. He dropped his forehead hard onto Sid’s shoulder, his hands coming up to clutch desperately at Sid’s shirt, twisting the fabric. 

And then he broke down. This was raw, ugly and soundless shaking that wracked his entire body. Hot tears stream down and soaked instantly into the shoulder of Sid’s jacket. Tony breathed roughly and fought to keep quiet, but his body screamed the agony he couldn’t voice; fear for Effy, the weight of being the strong one, the terrifying relief of not being alone, and the exhausting hell of holding himself together. Sid didn’t hesitate. After the initial shock wore off, his arms came up and wrapped tightly around Tony. One hand spread across the tense plane of Tony’s back and the other cradled his head fingers tangling in the black, damp hair. His cheek coming to rest against Tony’s temple. 

“It’s alright, Tone,” Sid murmured into the space between them, his voice steady rumble against Tony’s ear. “She’s alright. She’s fine.” 

Tony just shook his head minutely against Sid’s shoulder, a wordless denial of ay comfort, even as he clung tighter. The dam had burst, and there was a flood. 

They stood like that for a few minutes that felt like hours. Locked together in a bright corridor. A passing nurse glanced at them, then quickly looked away. The world of hospital mold on around their little devastation. 

“I know I am an asshole. Why are you putting up with me?” His words were muffled, spoken directly into the fabric of Sid’s jacket, stripped from all of Tony’s usual defensive irony. It wasn’t a rhetorical question. He was genuinely wondering. 

Sid didn’t answer right away. He felt the tremors starting to subside, leaving a heavy exhaustion.
“Because…You’re my best friend. I’d do just about anything for you.” 

“You’re such an idiot, You were supposed to tell me that you love me. Why are you so fucking slow, Sidney?” Tony wrenched his head back, tearing himself from the sanctuary of Sid’s shoulder. His face was still tear-streaked, his eyes red-rimmed and blazing, but the raw pain was forged back into fury and shame. He stared deep into Sid’s eyes. Cold blue, but with so much pent top frustration in his gaze. 

“That’s the line, isn’t it?” Tony spat, his voice venomous, trembling. “In your shitty little world. I fall apart, you hold me, you tell me sweet nothings, and we live happily every after. But you can’t even get that right, You just stand there. ‘Best friend’ my ass. Pathetic.” 

Sid stoof frozen, his arms still around Tony. The warmth of the moment had been violently ripped away, leaving him cold. He felt the old burn in his chest. Hot and sour. 

“Listen here, asshole. You don’t get to push me around, have a breakdown and then punish me for seeing it. That’s not how it works.” Sid grabbed Tony by the collar of his shirt and pulled him closer. Their faces inches away. 

“You’re a twat.” 

“Oh, yeah?” Sid chuckled. Tony smiled. “I fucking hate you, Stonem.” 

Tony took off Sid’s glasses, and kissed him. It wasn’t like a kiss in Tony’s room. That had been a collision of confusion and revelation. This was something else. This was a fight. Tony’s lips were hard, demanding and salty from tears. There was no tenderness, only desperation and fury.Sid kissed him back. Just as angrily and messy. His hands loosened, and then gripped tighter, pulling Tony in until there was no space left between them. He could taste the sour tang of coffee and Tony’s unique bitterness. It was awful. It was perfect. 

Tony made a low growl and his hands came up to frame Sid’s face, his thumbs pressing hard against Sid’s cheekbones, holding him in place if he decided to run. Sid didn’t. It was a kiss that said shut up and don’t let go and I hate you and I know all at once. 

A door down he corridor clicked open. The sound was like a bucket of ice water. They broke apart springing back from each other, as if electrocuted. Sid was breathing hard, his lips tingling, his vision a blur without his glasses. Tony looked wrecked, hair a mess, mouth red, eyes wide with horror. 

Tony held out Sid’s glasses. His hand was steady, but Sid could feel the tremor in his fingers. He took them, their fingers brushing, The contact sent a jolt through him. He put his glasses back on, and the world snapped into focus. Tony stood there, looking like he’d been hit by a lorry. Again. 

“Tony…” Sid started, his voice rough. “We should continue this conversation when we get home.” 

Tony chuckled. He took a step back, putting deliberate disease between them. He straightened his shirt, where Sid had grabbed it. “I have to of back in.” He stated the obvious, His eyes met Sid’s and for a fleeting second they shared understanding of the monumental thing tat had just happened. Then Tony turned and pushed the door to Effy’s room open, slipping inside without a glance. The door shut, leaving Sid alone in the bright corridor. 

He leaned back against the cool wall and closed his eyes. His heart was a frantic drum against his ribs, his lips still felt sensitive. Home, he’d said. As if Tony’s sterile Cardiff room was home. Or as if any of this is normal. 

He waited, after a bit he pulled out his phone. 

Text from Tom. 

“Want me to come and get you?” 

“No,” Sid typed. “Driving back with Tony. Later.” 

He didn’t have the energy for more.