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It happens on a night that has him relaxed.
They’re done filming early for once. No cameras, just them sitting around, take out cartons on the table.
Aaron doesn’t answer the phone the first time it rings.
He’s enjoying his time with everyone, so he barely noticed it in the first place. Kevin’s mid sentence, rambling about a video idea, Herm’s half listening while scrolling like he usually does, and Denny’s leaned back on the couch with a little smile on his face.
“-and then if we run back “Guess the Black Boyfriend”, it could go even better. Do you guys remember how the Russian Lady ruined it last time? Classic, but some fans were upset. But then Aaron, and I mean seriously, Aaron-”
Aaron leans back in the chair, thoughtful. “You really think anyone cared about it? I mean, I wouldn’t call the reaction to Denny’s joke afterwards upset.”
Kevin pauses with a forkful of noodles. “It’ll be smoother if we redo it-”
“Smooth?” Herm cuts in, dry. “Your idea of smooth is the same thing that had your nostrils flaring with a minor aneurysm last shoot.”
Denny chuckles. “Seriously, Kev. How do you get that worked up? It’s not like the fans are keeping score of your nostril flares.”
Kevin groans, throwing his hands up. “This is harassment! I am professionally stressed, thank you very much!”
Aaron smirks, shaking his head. “Professional stress? Nah, you’re just a stress intern.”
The phone rings again. Aaron glances down. Unknown Number. He lets it ring until it goes to voicemail.
Kevin huffs, grabbing Aaron’s attention again. There’s a twitch at the corner of his mouth that betrays his amusement. “You guys are monsters. But fine. We’ll crush it next time, you’ll see!”
The third ring makes his jaw tighten.
“I’ll be back,” Aaron says casually, grabbing his phone and standing. “If this is a scam I’m suing.”
“Get their ass,” Denny says, looking up. “Tell them you’re six foot whatever.”
“Or act like you can’t speak english!” Herm adds.
Aaron snorts and slips out into the hallway, clicking the door shut behind him.
He decides that whatever it is, he won’t let it consume his night. It’ll be a moment that passes, then he can continue to relax and exchange jokes with his friends.
He sighs and picks it up. “Hello?”
There’s a beat. Then-
“Hey buddy.”
Aaron’s smile slips before he can stop it, his stomach flipping with anxiety. The words hit him, and he feels sick. There’s only one person he knows that could greet him like that without a care in the world. The voice hasn’t changed one bit, even after so many years.
“…Why are you calling me?” Aaron asks.
There’s a pause on the other end, like they were irritated Aaron had asked the obvious.
“Wow. Straight to that, huh? No hello? I raised you better than that.”
Aaron closes his eyes, leaning his forehead against the wall.
It was his father.
He’d know that voice anywhere- the easy confidence, the assumption that he’s always welcome, without apology. It’s been years, but it doesn’t matter.
His dad always does this. Appears out of nowhere, when it suits him. Probably when he’s most bored, or lonely, or needs something. He takes up space, takes from him and his mom, then disappears again, leaving Aaron to deal with the fallout.
Aaron already knows how this conversation goes. No matter what he says, by the end of it, his father will act like he’s done nothing wrong and make his demands.
“You didn’t raise me. At all.”
A sigh on the other end, exaggerated. “Can we not do this right now?”
“You called me,” Aaron snaps. “So yeah. We’re doing this.”
The voice continues, like they’re picking up a conversation from last week instead of years ago. “I figured I’d call. It’s been a while. If I was any other dad, I’d be offended that you never reach out.”
Aaron laughs once, sharp and humorless. It’s unlike his usual laugh, which is high pitched and unrestrained. He hates how his dad can, with less than a minute of time, take control over the things that make Aaron, Aaron. “You don’t have the right to be offended.”
“I saw you online,” his father says, steamrolling over Aaron’s comment. “You’re doing.. stuff now. Comedy, right? Doing pretty well for yourself, so I thought maybe we could catch up. Grab a drink, or something.”
Distantly, he registers the door to the hallway opening slowly. Herm steps into the hallway first, Kevin following, confusion written all over their faces. Denny lingers just behind them, already pissed.
Aaron barely registers them.
He grips the phone harder. “We’re not adults who drifted apart. You stopped showing up when I was a kid. Mom had to raise me all on her own.”
“Oh, come on,” the man scoffs. “Aaron, don’t make this dramatic.”
That-
Aaron’s voice rises, cracking at the edges. “Don’t Aaron me. You missed my entire life. You don’t get to call because you saw a clip of me and decided I was interesting now!”
“I had my reasons,” the voice insists. “Things were complicated with your mother-”
“Don’t talk about her,” Aaron snaps. “You don’t get to claim her either.”
There’s silence on the line. Then, colder, “Watch your tone, Aaron. Remember who you’re speaking to.”
Aaron laughs again, shaky. “Or what?”
His chest is tight, too tight. Like there’s a hand wrapped around his ribs, squeezing to remind him who has always had the power to do this to him.
He feels twelve again, old enough to know that the situation was wrong, but not old enough to do anything about it.
Old enough to understand that the way his dad came and went wasn’t normal. That love wasn’t supposed to feel conditional, like it depended on timing or convenience or whether you were doing well enough to be worth the effort. Old enough to see his mom standing straighter every time his dad showed up, like she was bracing for trouble. Old enough to hear the fights through thin walls.
He’s back in their tiny kitchen, bare feet on cold tile, the hum of the fridge louder than it should be. His breathing is out of control, shallow, sharp pulls of air that scrape his throat. He remembers gripping the edge of the counter, knuckles white, trying not to cry because crying only made things worse. Crying made dad roll his eyes. Crying made him say things like you’re too sensitive or this is why your mother and I can’t sort things out.
“You owe me respect,” his father says on the line, breaking through the memory.
“No,” Aaron says, voice breaking despite himself. “Just- what did you need?”
The same voice. The same tone. The same way he talks like Aaron owes him politeness for existing.
He swallows, throat burning. His heart is pounding hard enough that he can hear it in his ears, each beat echoing with something old and ugly and familiar.
He hates that it still works.
Hates that a single phone call can undo years of therapy, distance, jokes, confidence.
He presses his shoulder harder into the wall, grounding himself, reminding himself he’s not a kid anymore. He’s grown and survived, built something out of this situation.
He nearly misses it when Herm takes the phone out of his hand.
“Hey,” Herm says, calm and measured, into the receiver. “This is gonna stop now.”
“Who the hell is this?”
“Someone who’s here,” Herm replies. “Which is more than you can say.”
Aaron sinks onto the floor. So much for a great night.
Herm continues, voice low and controlled. “This is what’s going to happen: you’re getting blocked. You won’t call him again, or insert yourself into his life when it’s convenient for you.”
“He’s my son-”
Herm clicks the red button, cutting the voice off.
“And.. blocked.” He stated, matter of factly, turning Aaron’s phone around to follow up and make sure that his dad can’t reach him again.
Aaron stares at the wall for a second, like he’s waiting for something else to happen. Like part of him still expects to be chased down and told he’s overreacting.
No one says anything after Herm hands him his phone.
And suddenly he can’t breathe in this space anymore.
The hallway feels narrower. The walls closer. His chest tightens again, the same way it did in that kitchen, the same way it always does when he feels like he’s twelve and cornered and wrong for being upset.
Running has always been easier than explaining, anyways. So he gets up and bolts.
“-Aaron!” Kevin calls.
He’s already gone.
x
They find him three blocks down the road, sitting on the curb in front of a 24/7 café, knees pulled to his chest, breathing too fast.
Denny slows first. “Aaron,” he mutters, sounding relieved. “You sure do run fast, huh?”
Kevin approaches carefully and drops down to Aaron’s left. “Hey.”
Aaron scrubs at his face. “I didn’t want you guys to see that.”
Herm crouches in front of him. “Too late.”
Aaron stares at the floor, breathing uneven.
Kevin breaks it softly. “Hey. Hey, look at me.”
When he doesn’t look up, Denny crouches in front of him anyway. “You wanna punch something? Because I support that.”
Aaron huffs a weak laugh. “I’m fine.”
Herm snorts. “No need to lie.”
Under his breath, Kevin asks for permission to touch him. After giving his affirmative, Kevin rubs slow circles into Aaron’s back. “You don’t have to be, Aaron.”
Aaron swallows. “He always does this. Pops up, then disappears. I don’t know why it still gets to me.”
Then Denny sighs and sits to his right. “Your mom’s gonna kill him when she finds out.”
Aaron laughs weakly. “You still texting her?”
“Every day,” Denny says easily. “She sends me heart emojis. I’m her favorite now.”
That gets a real huff out of Aaron.
Kevin exhales. Then, carefully, “You wanna talk about it?”
He hesitates.
His mouth opens and closes. Talking means admitting it hurt. Admitting it hurt means admitting it mattered. And his dad taught him, early on, that feelings were unacceptable.
If Aaron cried, he was too sensitive.
If he got angry, he was overreacting.
If he asked why his dad kept leaving, the answer was always the same, a sigh, a look, a “can we not do this right now?”
So Aaron learned to swallow it. He doesn’t know if he can unlearn it. He knows he should try.
“I dunno,” he says instead, voice quiet. “It’s just that he always does that. Shows up when things are going well, and leaves when we need him. He acts like he can just.. take claim over me.”
Herm’s jaw tightens.
“I stopped expecting anything,” Aaron continues. “But it still gets to me. The shit he used to say.”
Kevin nods. “That makes sense.”
Aaron wipes his nose on his sleeve. “I hate that it does.”
Denny bumps his shoulder. “Doesn’t make you weak.”
“Yeah,” Herm adds. “Makes you human.”
Aaron exhales, shoulders slumping. “Thanks for coming after me.”
Kevin smiles softly. “Always.”
Herm squints at Aaron, then glances around the curb. “Alright, enough crying in public. Let’s fix that with pastries. Glad you picked the best spot to have a breakdown, Aaron.”
Aaron smirks weakly. “You sure it’s the best spot, Herm? Wouldn’t a place near your encampment be better? Less of a walk for you later?”
Denny laughs, getting up to nudge Herm. “Yeah, I’m surprised you haven’t left us to break in and steal all the cakes yourself already.”
Herm shrugs, mock offended. “Excuse me? Why would I break in if it’s a 24/7 café? Whatever, I’ll go get them. Wait here.”
Kevin slyly comments before Herm leaves, “You sure you can afford it? Need me to spot you?”
The three of them laugh as Herm disappears inside the café. A few minutes later, he emerges with a bag full of warm treats. They settle back onto the curb, the soft glow of the streetlights catching the sugar in the air.
Aaron takes a tentative bite of a cinnamon roll, savoring it, letting himself be distracted for just a second. Denny leans back, grinning.
“You know,” he says, smirking, “you nibble your food like a rat biding on time. It’s impressive.”
Kevin immediately groans. “Denny, way too soon!”
Aaron chokes on his pastry for a second, then bursts out laughing, the sound breaking the quiet. Both Herm and Kevin freeze mid motion. Denny snickers softly from beside him, and the laughter lingers, unrestrained.
When Aaron finally calms down, he wipes the tears from the corners of his eyes and looks up. They’re all staring at him. “What? Something on my face?”
Denny laughs again, while Herm tilts his head, tearing his eyes away and feigning innocence. “Nothing. Just keep eating.”
Kevin just shakes his head, smiling faintly. “Ignore us! Enjoy your treat.”
Aaron laughs again, quieter this time, and leans back. Now, sitting here, with crumbs on his fingers, he realizes something.
Tonight belongs to him.
Even if his dad tried to stake a claim, even if the past still tugged at his ribs, Aaron still takes claim over this moment.