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Were it a different time, Aidan would have enjoyed the rush of Heathrow, the enormous mass of people flowing around him in all directions. But the time is now and he finds no pleasure in sitting on one of those seats that always look far more comfortable than they really are. He glances at the man that occupies the seat next to him – and three other seats as well – but the man seems to be too busy snoring and producing a disgusting smell to notice Aidan’s disapproving gaze.
The airport never sleeps, he thinks as he watches the endless stream of faces. Even now, at almost five a.m., it’s full of people. Aidan watches them without any interest – ugly old men, ugly middle-aged women and even ugly little children. Of course, there is a plenty of handsome people as well. But Aidan fears that beautiful faces will remind him of that one he tries to forget.
He gets up, runs a hand through his hair and pulls hard – maybe in attempt to get rid of Richard’s face that keeps haunting him so often. Aidan doesn’t even understand it. He tries to forget everything about Richard, but it’s the most unexpected things that bring up all the memories – taste of coffee on the back of his tongue, smell of rainy morning, quiet sound of steps on the pavement or that one specific grey shade of the sky. Those things just keep coming and Aidan feels trapped.
Still, he is not running away, Aidan repeats to himself as he heads towards the gate. He isn’t fleeing from his troubles, he tells himself while an annoyed young woman checks his passport and his boarding pass. He isn’t craven and he isn’t afraid to face his problems.
But when Aidan finds his seat on the plane and sits down, there is a little voice in his head telling him that he, in fact, is.
---
The steward serving the food seems to use more hair products than any female on the plane. He has an American accent and a huge fake smile that looks more intimidating than polite. He gives Aidan a sandwich and a coffee in a paper cup. The sandwich taste like plastic and the coffee is nothing more than coloured water, but it still manages to burn Aidan’s tongue.
He gives the almost untouched food back to the steward and resolutely ignores any further ,,Would you like some tea?” or ,,Coffee, sir?” .
Aidan looks from the tiny window. All he sees are white clouds spread beneath, gathering to form the most surreal shapes.
The man sitting next to him leans closer and says: ,,Isn’t it beautiful?”
Aidan glances at him, then back outside. Most people would indeed consider the ocean of clouds a beautiful thing. Aidan used to as well. But now he doesn’t see the fantastic cloud shapes. He only sees the white colour – bleached and dead, like old bones. And it’s almost as bad as the gloomy grey of London far behind him.
,,Yes, it’s nice.” Aidan isn’t sure why he bothers lying or even replying. But the man seems kind and fragile – Aidan fears that a single mean word might kill him.
,,Would you like a book?” asks the man in a soft voice.
Aidan pays more attention to the gentle tone of his speech than to actual words and he only manages a confused ,,Huh?”
,,A book. Flights can get a bit boring, don’t you think?” His eyes behind glasses light up as he reaches in his bag and hands Aidan a tattered paperback.
Aidan spends the rest of the flight reading. He doesn’t even know what the story is about. He just reads and feels a bit warmer inside.
---
When they land in Dublin, Aidan tries to return the book, but the soft-spoken man only waves his hand. ,,Keep it and finish reading it. And if you ever want to return it...you can find my name on the last page.” He smiles and walks away without any other word.
Aidan realises the warm feeling disappeared along with the man. He doesn’t understand why he feels so empty without a man he barely knows. Sighing, he flicks through the pages of the book and there it is, in the corner of the last page, written in tiny black letters. Adam Brown.
He carefully tucks the book into his bag and – thinking that maybe, another time – he heads to his old home.
---
It’s freezing in Dublin and the pavements are covered in ice. Aidan slips more than a dozen times and falls twice before reaching his apartment.
The heating is off and Aidan doesn’t even remove his coat when he climbs into his bed. He falls asleep immediately. His dreams are of white clouds that keep suffocating him.
He wakes up suddenly, unable to breathe. His heart is racing fast as he struggles to fill his lungs with air. Instead of white from his dream, everything is black and he can’t see anything. The darkness is around him and he panics, rolling from his bed and falling onto the ground. The sudden pain in his elbow sends stars dancing before his eyes. The little shimmering lights pierce the darkness and Aidan finally breathes.
He gets up and then sits back on the floor when he feels his knees go weak. He goes through the pockets of the coat he is still wearing and finds a cigarette. It takes him a few tries to light it with his shaky fingers, but when he does and the smoke whirls around his face, the darkness seems less heavy.
But then the smoke is gone and he has to light another cigarette. And another one and another. Then, there is no more smoke and no more light – only blackness and emptiness. Aidan feels a terrible sensation crawling up his spine and he feels vulnerable and weak. One part of him says that it’s all ridiculous, there is nothing to fear. But as he curls up on the carpet and a few tears run across his face, it doesn’t seem ridiculous at all.
---
In the end, Aidan stops sleeping in the night. He tries to keep himself busy with stupid late-night TV shows and he keeps the lights switched on. Then he usually falls asleep in the morning and sleeps throughout the whole day. If he isn’t asleep, struggles between thinking of Richard and forbidding himself to think of him.
It is his fourth – or maybe fifth, Aidan doesn’t keep the track of time anymore – day in Dublin when he receives a text message. Aidan hopes that the message will bring him other thoughts than the endless don’t-think-of-Richard that fills his head. But he is wrong.
I need to see you. I need to talk to you. Can we meet? Please?
Aidan isn’t sure if he only imagines the slightly desperate tone in Richard’s message. It doesn’t even matter, he tells to himself as he types a message back. He is relieved that he doesn’t have to talk to Richard. Aidan is here and Richard is still in London. This is why he left. To get away. To put a distance between them. It’s been a few weeks since he last spoke to Richard, but in London, it still felt like Richard could be just behind the corner. And Aidan didn’t want to meet him anymore.
I can’t. I’m in Dublin.
The reply comes a few seconds after.
So am I.
---
Richard is here, words keep echoing in Aidan’s mind, he is here. Aidan stares at the wall and he tries to make up his mind, but then there’s another text from Richard and he’s on Aidan’s street and Aidan wonders why he gave him his address. Aidan feels sick and he is certain he would vomit – if he had eaten something in the past few days. Het trembles and stumbles to the door when he hears the doorbell.
He doesn’t even recognise Richard at first. The man before him is too pale, too weary and too skinny to be Richard. That stranger looks like he is suffering from a terrible illness and...this can’t be Richard, Aidan is sure.
But then a sob leaves the man’s mouth and he whispers: ,,Aidan.”
And it’s Richard’s voice, broken and rough, but definitely Richard’s. Aidan stares in disbelief as Richard walks in, closes the door and collapses onto his knees. Within an instant, Aidan is on the floor with him, pulling Richard in an embrace. He doesn’t know what he is doing, he just knows Richard crying is wrong and he has to calm him, to stop it all.
,,It’s...it’s alright,” he whispers.
,,No, it’s not. I’m sorry, I’m so sorry,” Richard manages to say between the sobs that shake his whole body.
Aidan feels lost, and it seems his mind doesn’t work, but he keeps whispering soothing nonsense to Richard’s ear and he holds him even after he feels his arms go stiff. Aidan doesn’t know how much time they spend there, half lying, half sitting on the floor. It seems like hours when Richard finally looks up, his red eyes contrasting with his pale face.
Richard’s eyes search for Aidan’s and there are many words hidden in Richard’s look, but Aidan can’t decipher any of them.
And then Richard leans in and kisses him. A pair of chapped lips presses against another one and Aidan doesn’t think anymore.
---
Richard stays with Aidan for almost two weeks. There is snow outside and one week after Richard’s arrival, Aidan gets a call from his family. They wish him merry Christmas and when they ask something, lies come automatically to Aidan’s tongue. For them, he is still in London and he is still fine and everything is still great. They don’t need to know and Aidan doesn’t have the strength to feel bad about not telling them truth.
What truth? Aidan wonders. His life is a mess and so is Richard’s. Neither of them seems to care anymore. They don’t talk about it. They rarely talk about anything. Sometimes, they kiss. Or have sex or look at each other with empty eyes for what seems like hours. Sometimes they pretend to eat or watch TV. Sometimes, one of them almost smiles. And often, they just lie in the bed without a single word – or on the sofa or on the floor – until they fall asleep.
Aidan knows it cannot last. And it doesn’t even surprise him when he wakes up one day and Richard is gone. There is no trace left of him in the flat. Except for a piece of paper on the kitchen table.
I’m going back. I am sorry for everything. I don’t think we should ever meet again, but even so...please forgive me.
Aidan only reads it once, following every line and every curve of Richard’s elegant handwriting on that small paper. He crumples the note in his hand and throws it away.
He finds a cigarette and hopes that the smoke can fill the terrible hole he feels in his chest.