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.