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It starts with a nightmare.
He wakes with his t-shirt drenched in sweat. Next to him, Robert snores gently. He’s kicked the duvet to the floor again, his long limbs sprawling inelegantly all over the bed. Aaron looks at him, waiting for his breathing to steady and his heart to stop racing as he studies the fine hair covering Robert’s arms and the cluster of birthmarks across his back. He knows that he won’t be much good the next day if he doesn’t get in a few more hours of kip, so eventually he turns over the pillow and lays back down again. Only when the alarm goes off, he’s still awake.
Too wrapped up in his own mind, he ignores Robert’s attempt to pepper his neck with kisses. Only grunts as Liv tells him about her plans for the evening. Decides, in the end, to skip breakfast altogether and head to work early instead. When his mum tries to hand him a piece of toast he snaps at her and guilt follows him down the stairs and all the way to work. He takes his mood out on the scrap, the hammer heavy in his hand and his arms soon trembling with exhaustion.
“Alright there, mate?” Adam asks, only to back away with his hands raised as Aaron glowers at him.
And Aaron’s not stupid, alright? He knows how these things work. Adam will tell Vic, Vic will tell her brother and, like a shark smelling blood in the water, Robert will come circling. He’ll prod and poke, because it’s in his nature to never, ever leave anything alone. Then Chas will notice, just as she always notices these things, and she’ll start worrying. And Liv, well, she’s not stupid, is she? By then she’s bound to pick up on it too. So Aaron mans up, grits his teeth and goes after his friend.
“Fancy a pint?” he asks, doing his best to look sheepish. “I’m buying.”
“Yes, you are,” Adam agrees. Only he’s grinning as he says it, already forgiving and forgetting.
Aaron continues to mend fences that day. He listens, nodding and humming, as Liv moans about her teachers and the unfairness of home-work. Has a second serving of his mum’s Shepherd’s pie, even though he’s already full and the top’s burnt. Follows Robert into the bathroom, carefully locking the door before closing the distance between them.
“Missed me that much?” Robert asks, grinning against Aaron’s jaw.
They take it to the bed and, afterward, Aaron drags Robert’s arm across his chest. Pushes himself back so that his sweaty back presses against Robert’s ribs and belly. Robert doesn’t seem to mind, he even tightens his arms and digs his pointy chin into the meaty part of Aarons’ shoulder. It hurts, but not very much. Just enough to give Aaron something to focus on as he falls asleep.
He expects to sleep until morning. Expects to wake sore, but well-rested. Instead he startles awake in the grey light of pre-dawn, heart pounding. And so it continues for the next couple of weeks. The nightmares don’t come every night, but still often enough that it wears him down. Not just the lack of sleep, although that’s bad enough, but also his continued attempts to pretend like he’s alright. But it’s not like he has a choice. Not when his mum already has a bottle of anxiety medication rattling around in her bag. Not when he has Liv relying on him to be her big brother. Not when Robert’s been so good to him for so long already. They all deserve a break from the Aaron Dingle shit show.
Only, as the days pass, it becomes more and more of a struggle. He begins to feel sluggish. Impossibly heavy and incredibly hollow at the same time. Liv gives him strange looks, sticking close to him one moment and not giving him the time of day the next. Chas keeps showing up whenever he’s in the kitchen, as if drawn to the sound of rattling cutlery. And Robert, well, he’s definitely caught scent of blood in the water.
Not a night goes past when his hands don’t travel across Aaron’s marred skin, his fingertips inspecting every inch of naked body as his mouth presses distracting kisses along Aaron’s neck and jaw. Aaron doesn’t have the heart to stop him because, as transparent as it is, it also speaks of desperation. Of the damage that Aaron’s unintentionally done him. Done to all of them. Because he’s planted that fear, hasn’t he? Given them so many reasons, too many reasons, to believe that he can’t make it through any kind of hardship without carving himself apart.
As they’re falling asleep, Aaron drags Robert close. Kisses him in a wordless apology.
“What’s that for?” Robert mumbles, groggy with sleep.
“No reason,” Aaron lies.
He falls asleep. Wakes up panting. Waits for morning. And keeps trying.
Keeps faking his way through the days. But on Tuesday morning on week three everything comes crashing down on him. One moment he’s working, the high-vis vest hung up on a hook and piles of paper spread out in front of him. The next moment, the numbers start dancing in front of his eyes. His vision tunnels and his lips, they’ve gone numb. It feels like he might faint, or maybe throw up. Aaron pushes away from the desk, stumbles to his feet. Something’s wrong. Something’s terribly wrong.
He tries to call for help but then he remembers that Adam’s gone to… pick something up, somewhere. He fumbles, pushing something over with a loud crash, but eventually manages to find his phone. Picks it up but can’t remember how to use it. Besides, what’s the point when he can’t even speak. His throat’s just too tight and there’s no air left in his lungs. No air left in the office. He can’t breathe. Can’t think. He’s dying.
Suddenly, there’s someone there. Someone who grips his shoulders and pushes him down in a chair. Someone who rubs his back and talks in a low, familiar voice. Who smells of familiar things. Who’s helping him. Anchoring him.
“You breathe now. Just breathe. That’s a good lad.”
Aaron obediently breathes. And breathes. And breathes some more. It takes forever but he reaches a point where his body feels like it’s his own again. He blinks, taking in the mess that the office has become. There are papers everywhere. His new phone’s on the floor with its screen cracked. There’s a chair turned over. Still blinking he realizes that, at some point, he started crying and he angrily rubs a sleeve across his eyes and under his nose.
“That’s better,” he hears. And Aaron knows that voice now. His cheeks flush and he hunches deeper, wishing that he could sink through the floor. Or just run through that door and not look back. But there’s a hand on his shoulder and it’s strong and more than capable of hauling him right back if he tries to do a runner.
“Sorry,” he mutters, his voice thin and croaky. “You don’t-“
“Don’t tell me to go,” Cain warns him. “Don’t tell me you’re fine either. Not unless you want a smack.”
Aaron bites his lip. Stays quiet. They’re neither one of them men of words and the silence, well, it seems to drag on forever. Cain’s hand stays on his shoulder though, a heavy promise that Aaron’s uncle isn’t going anywhere.
“On your birthday, I asked you if you’d been hurting yourself again,” Cain finally says, “and you lied to me.”
“Sorry,” Aaron says again, shifting uneasily.
“I don’t hold it against you. You had your reasons. I’m just mentioning it so that you’ll understand why I won’t be asking you this time. Not when you have form for lying.”
The unease grows. Blooms into something worse as Cain kneels down next to him. It puts them face to face, eye to eye. Aaron hurriedly looks away, aiming his glance at their feet, but he still manages to catch a glimpse of his uncle’s face. It’s grim. Set in stone.
“Show me your arms,” Cain orders and the words don’t come as a surprise at all. Aaron doesn’t trust his voice, doesn’t trust his ability to form words or sentences, so he just shakes his head. Attempts to brace himself for Cain’s anger but finds that he doesn’t have anything left inside of him to brace himself with. He’s all empty. Well past running on fumes.
“Don’t fight me on this,” Cain says. And it’s a warning but it also sounds like a plea. Aaron remembers that he’s hurt his uncle too. Planted that same fear in him, watering and nursing it the same way he’s done to Robert and his mum. Figures that, somehow, he owes him so he forces his shaking fingers into action. It’s hard to get the sleeves pulled up high enough but in the end he manages. Can’t bring himself to hold his arms up but Cain solves that for him.
He reaches down, wrapping his fingers loosely around Aaron’s wrists and lifts them up. Studies first the right one. Even goes as far as to turn it over. Then he does the same with the left one, only this arm takes longer. Of course it does. Aaron’s right-handed. Barely breathing, Aaron squeezes his eyes shut. Wishes he could close down his hearing too. That he could just make himself disappear.
“You should have let me kill Gordon,” Cain finally says as he tugs Aaron’s sleeves back down. There’s not much to be read from his voice but his hands, they’re gentle even though all the injuries on Aaron's arms are long since healed.
“C’mon,” he continues. “On your feet now.”
Somehow they make it out of the portacabin. Cain’s car is parked outside and he ushers Aaron inside. Drives him to the Wooly and half-drags, half-lifts Aaron out of his seat. Pushes him through the door and the mostly empty pub. Charity’s behind the bar and they exchange some words. Probably some looks too because there are a couple of strange, dragged-out silences. Aaron keeps his eyes on the floor though until a hand pressing between his shoulder blades urges him forward and through the door of the back-room.
Chas is waiting for them. She jumps to her feet and starts talking, her voice high and shrill. Aaron can’t make out what she’s saying. It’s just a jumble of words. When Cain speaks it’s curt. Gruff. He nudges Aaron’s shoulder, maybe hoping to make him speak too. Instead Aaron jerks away. Flees up the stairs and into his room. Crawls into his bed, relaxing as he realizes that no one’s following. For the first time in weeks, he falls asleep without worrying about nightmares.
When he wakes, his head aches and his eyes feel gritty. It’s dark in the room, but even so he knows that he’s not alone. There’s someone sitting in there with him. Someone whose aftershave he knows and whose weight makes the mattress dip in a familiar way.
“You know that it’s creepy to stare at someone who’s sleeping, right?” he mutters into his pillow.
“Yeah,” Robert confirms. “And you know it’s bloody frustrating that, after all this time, you still don’t trust me, right?”
Aaron sighs. Rolls over on his back. Stares up at the ceiling.
“I trust you.”
“Not enough to tell me when you’re having a hard time.”
Robert sounds hurt. That’s the worst part.
“It’s not like that,” Aaron tries to tell him.
“Then how is it?”
He wets his lips. Struggles to find the right words. Doesn’t, but realizes that he has to try anyway.
“Don’t you ever get sick of being the knight in shining armour?” he hears himself ask. “Because I know I get sick of being the screw-up. I get sick of being so needy. So weak.“
The words hang in the hair. Suspended between them in the darkness.
“You done?” Robert says after a moment, and Aaron grunts in confirmation. He’s not sure what he expects his boyfriend to answer. Maybe more of that ‘you’re the strongest person I know’ crap. Or maybe something better. Something easier to believe. After all, Robert’s always been a good liar. Always been good at telling people what they need to hear.
“It’s true,” Robert says instead. “You are week. And needy. And an occasional screw-up.”
Aaron realizes that he’s turned his head. That he’s staring.
“We all are at some point,” Robert continues. “It’s part of being human. You love us despite our weak moments, don’t you? You love us even when we screw up. Just like we love you. And I’m not just talking about me, or your mum or horror of a baby sister. Your lunatic of an uncle does too, and the rest of your mad family. And your friends; Adam, Paddy, the lot of them. Push comes to shove, half the flipping village probably has your back.”
Because they think you’re weak, Aaron fills in. Because they think you can’t take care of yourself.
“The list of people who love you is a mile long,” Robert adds, his voice half-amused and half-bitter. “Most of us would be grateful for a list half as long.”
Underneath the bitterness is a life-long hurt. Of not being wanted. Of never being enough.
“You don’t need half a village to look after you,” Aaron points out, fumbling in the darkness until he finds Robert’s hand. He gives it a hard squeeze. “You can look after yourself just fine.”
Besides, he thinks, you have me now. I won’t let anyone hurt you.
“So could you,” Robert says and he suddenly sounds fierce. “You really could. You take such good care of your sister. Of your mum. Even of me. If you would just invest half as much into looking after yourself, days like today wouldn’t come along half as often.”
“Nothing happened today,” Aaron disagrees only for Robert to scoff.
“That’s not how Cain tells it. And besides, it’s not just about today, is it? You’ve been in a downwards spiral for ages. We’ve all sat down to share notes, you know.”
He sounds smug. Aaron tugs his hand away. Fights down the urge to smother his boyfriend with a pillow. Tries to remind himself that Robert can’t help himself. That this is how he gets when he’s fighting for something important. All ruthless and full of himself.
“I’ve been tired,” Aaron says. “That’s all. There’s no big mystery for you to solve.”
“Yeah, we figured that one out for ourselves. What’s keeping you up then? Chas figures you’re lying awake worrying about something but I’m betting it’s nightmares. Speaking from experience, those have a tendency to catch up with you when things are over and you start relaxing.”
Aaron nods. Realizes that Robert can’t possibly see it and clears his throat.
“Yeah,” he confirms. Wondering, a little, about Robert’s nightmares. If they’re about the shooting. Or Kate. Or maybe his mum dying, all those years ago.
“What are they about? The trial? The things he did to you?”
Robert fires the question at him, sparing him nothing. Maybe hoping to shock the answer out of him.
“Don’t know,” Aaron forces out just to make Robert stop. “Can’t remember.”
“Aaron-“
“It’s true, alright? I don’t remember. I just wake up, feeling awful. That’s all.”
“Why did you let it go so far? Why didn’t you just tell us?”
Aaron shrugs. Doesn’t care that Robert can’t see him. Rolls over and pushes his head into the pillows again. Doesn’t want to put words to his fears just in case it will make them come true. Will make Robert realize that he’s an idiot for putting up with all of Aaron’s crap. Will make his mum realize that she’s wasted enough time and energy on trying to fix what can’t ever be fixed. Will make Liv see through his mask and realize that her big brother’s not what she’s built him up to be.
“You’re an idiot,” Robert tells him.
And it’s alright because his voice, it’s tender and his hands, they’re gentle. He rolls Aaron over to his side and pulls him close. He’s wearing a suit, Aaron realizes as he feels the stiff fabric. Must have had an important meeting. A busy day. And now he’s come back home to this. Aaron sniffs. Hates himself for it and tries to blink away the stinging in his eyes.
“It’s alright,” Robert murmurs. He’s rocking them gently. “I still love you. And I know that you love me too.”
He doesn’t sound quite as sure as usual, so Aaron nods. Wishes he could just say the words.
“Then trust me to be there for you when you’re struggling. You know me, Aaron. You know me better than anyone. I wouldn’t be with you if I thought you were a bad investment. If I didn’t think it was worth it. That you were worth it. You can’t scare me away. Not after all we’ve been through.”
And that’s just too close to the fears that lurk in Aaron’s head.
“Didn’t know you could read minds,” he chokes out. The tears fall, hot and quiet. Aaron allows himself to be rocked. Thinks that, yeah, maybe Robert’s just an amazing liar but it could be that he’s telling the truth. Makes the decision to believe him, at least for tonight.
“Just yours,” Robert assures him.
He sounds sad.