Archive of Our Own

“I don’t like this.” 

Yeah, well, Andrew didn’t care. The terms were explicit. Abby squeezed the bridge of her nose, eyes scrunching, shoulders pulled up to her ears. The fluorescent lights of the clinic stung Andrew’s pupils. He hated this place, the too-small room, the tiny bed, the yellow walls with their Ikea paintings. 

“Andrew.” She said his name as an exasperated exhale. “You want Aaron to withdraw safely, right? You should bring him here. I can watch him for any danger signs.” 

“No.” It had to be in a place where Andrew could control the situation. That meant his dorm. Just him, and Neil, and nobody else. “It’s happening at Fox Tower. If you want to be of any help, tell me what I need to do.” 

Neil, leaning against the wall with his hands in his hoodie pockets, met Andrew’s gaze as Abby sighed. She sank into her chair. “Fine. I’ll tell you, on the condition that you call the second he starts showing abnormal symptoms. Erratic breathing, seizures, anything.” 

Andrew pursed his lips. He hated compromises. “Okay.”

This quiet was familiar. The soft breaths accentuating the long, deep stillness of a room whose occupant wasn’t all there. Columbia used to sound a lot like this when Aaron was sixteen and sick. Neil had picked the lock, and they’d found Aaron in bed, motionless. Andrew approached, like he had all those times before. Once upon a time, he’d have naloxone in one hand and a prayer he refused to recite lodged in his throat. Aaron was under a pile of blankets. Andrew instinctively whipped his gaze across the room, cataloguing the stacks of books, empty coffee cups, and water glass by the nightstand, his gaze drawing to the closet (shut, unusual), the half-opened bathroom door, the gap between the bed and the wall. Later. He’d do that later.

Andrew ripped the blankets off Aaron. His shirt was soaked through with sweat, but he didn’t stir. Neil, for once, hung back and said nothing as Andrew crouched before his brother’s prone form and placed two fingers along the carotid to feel an erratic pulse. 

“Get up.” He patted Aaron’s cheek. Aaron had the sleep of a corpse, and were it not for the thrum of his pulse and the sound of his breathing, he would have looked dead. Rougher, Andrew shook his shoulder. “Aaron, get up. Get up.” 

From the corner of his eye, he saw Neil pull out his phone, his thumb at the ready to call Abby. Andrew stopped him with a shake of the head. He grabbed Aaron’s shoulder and yanked it more violently. “Get up. Get up, now.”

He swiped the water glass off the nightstand and dumped it on Aaron’s face.

Aaron startled awake, and Andrew heaved a soft sigh. He watched for a moment as Aaron, lagging and languid, raised a fist to his face and wiped the water off. He looked up at Andrew through bleary eyes, squinting against the dental-white glare from the tubelights on the ceiling. 

“Aaron,” said Andrew, again. “Get up. You’re sleeping in my dorm tonight.”

“Wha…” Aaron’s eyelids slid closed again, and Andrew pulled him up by the arm. “What…Andrew, fuck off,” he muttered. He tried to shove Andrew off, but his body was wet cotton, heavy, uncoordinated. “No,” he mumbled, brow scrunching. “Lea’me aloneee, c’mon…” 

“Where’s the rest of the stuff?” Andrew asked instead, finally getting him upright. Aaron squinted, his blonde locks falling over his face as he looked between Andrew and Neil. 

“What’re you doing here?” he said instead, a semi-cooked glare on Neil. 

“Making sure you don’t ruin your life,” said Neil. “Where’d you hide the rest of the pills?”

“What the fuck?” Aaron rubbed his face, dragging his stare back to Andrew. “Fuck off…both of you, just—no, stop—” He tried to lurch out of bed as Andrew crossed the floor to the cupboard. But Aaron was too slow from the crash, and he nearly fell sideways off the bed before Neil caught him. Andrew threw the cupboard doors open, yanking out clothes by the fistfull. 

“‘Ndrew, no,” Aaron said, fighting uselessly against Neil’s grip. Neil shoved him back to the mattress with a disgusted expression. Andrew’s fist curled against plastic.

When Aaron saw the pill bottle in Andrew’s hands, his eyes shot wide. Andrew turned to him, holding it up. The three pills in there rattled tauntingly against the plastic. 

“Where’s the rest, Aaron?”

Andrew saw his brother’s train of thought a split second before Aaron tried to bolt. He dove out of bed, past Neil, in a move that might have been impressively fast had he not been kneecaped by his own bloodstream. He went careening to the floor, but never hit it, because Neil grabbed his arm and Andrew caught his side.

“Don’t do it,” Aaron said, pulling uselessly against their grip. “Just—anything but—”

“I’m not locking you in a bathroom,” Andrew promised. “You’re spending tonight in my dorm, where Neil and I can watch you. You’re going to withdraw, and then you’re tapering off.” 

“Fucking—” Aaron squirmed uselessly, before his head fell forward and he just exhaled. He was too tired, Andrew figured. Too doped up and too fucking exhausted to put up much fight. 

Neil had gotten Kevin to clear out, but they still caught him in the corridor, a quick frown on his face as they hauled Aaron to their dorm. They deposited him in a heap on Kevin’s bed. As Neil went to fetch a bottle of water, Andrew crouched by Aaron’s brow. “You were extremely stupid to do this.” 

“Whatever,” Aaron spat, but he turned his head to the window to avoid Andrew’s stare, and shut his eyes.

Andrew tapped his forehead, between the eyebrows. Aaron’s glare was hateful, but that was nothing new. 

“Here are the rules. No leaving. No privacy. Taper plan starts tomorrow. You talk to Bee or we do this the hard way.”

Aaron squinted and frowned as if he was trying to parse Andrew’s words through the glue in his head. “Fuck you,” he muttered at length, and turned on his side. 

Eight days later

Aaron supposed he ought to be grateful for the freedom he’d been given. What a fucking scam. Suicide watch? Seriously? Aaron couldn’t afford to die. He wouldn’t do that to Katelyn. He had dreams. He had classes. (Fuck, he had classes and he hadn’t attended a single one in eight days, and he had homework piling up, and labs, and tests, shit, fuck, shit—)

He exhaled. 

Today, for the first time all week, he’d been allowed to leave the confines of his room. He was still in a cage, the cage had just expanded. And like a goldfish, he was growing as big as his pond, dragging himself from his bed to the couch in the living room. Andrew and Neil pretended not to keep an eye on him as Aaron stared vacantly at the TV. It was an episode of Scooby Doo. He’d seen it once before, as a child. Stupid Saturday morning cartoons. He’d sit on their dirty old sofa, gaze glued to the screen, pinpricks of cathode ray colour vision dancing in front of his eyes as his mother sat beside him, shooting heroin. 

He would try not to look at her. But sometimes if her hands would shake or she couldn’t find a vein, she’d smack Aaron on the back of the head to get his attention. “Boy,” she’d mutter, agitated, “help me.”

Aaron developed a steady hand with injections before the age of ten. 

He inhaled. Exhaled. On the TV, Shaggy and Scooby Doo were dosing up on Scooby Snacks again. Even as a kid he used to interpret that as a drug. Eventually he learnt about the street name. Scooby Snax. K2. Spice. Synthetic weed. 

Weed. Weed would be nice right about now. 

He gritted his teeth. 

No, Aaron. Bad idea. He’d just survived a shit week of withdrawal. Getting immediately high again would be stupid and frustrating and he wasn’t sure Andrew would put up with it. If Andrew locked him in a bathroom this time, Aaron would break the window glass and slit his wrists. Fuck it. No. Not worth it. 

A jolt of pain lanced through his molars. Haltingly, he unhinged his jaw. He’d been grinding his teeth way too much. He’d have to ask Abby about dental work. See, he felt fine. He was taking care of himself again. He was better. He needed a distraction. He had to get to class. What day was it?

His phone wasn’t charged, so he couldn’t check. Andrew had taken it away that first day. Maybe he thought Aaron would try and contact a dealer. Now if he wanted to use it, he had to ask for it back. It was just insulting. He wasn’t a child.

“What day is it?”

“Wednesday,” Andrew replied from the table behind the couch.

Joint session. Not that it mattered. He’d been seeing Bee every day this past week. And every day of it had been hell. Psychological warfare while he was shattered and vulnerable. And now, to do a session with his brother? Jesus. Aaron had double OChem on Wednesdays. 

“What time is it?”

“Why?” asked Neil, mildly. “Going somewhere?”

“Ten-fifteen,” Andrew answered. 

Aaron said nothing. His OChem class was in an hour. If he showered and left now, he could make it with fifteen minutes to spare. Aaron pushed off from the couch, blinking back his exhaustion, and ignored Andrew and Neil’s identical stares as he ambled back to the bedroom. Mercifully, they didn’t follow, and Aaron enjoyed his first true moment of privacy in eight days by shutting the bathroom door and standing motionless under hot water. He closed his eyes. Inhaled. Exhaled. 

Okay. The badness was gone. Down the drain with the water and out of his body. It had been a rough week. It had been a rough few weeks. He’d relapsed. It was a normal part of addiction. He’d experienced some anhedonia over the last couple of days. But he was fine now. It was time to move on. 

Three sharp knocks on the bathroom door had Aaron grimace.

“What?” he snapped.

“Five more minutes,” Andrew warned, “then I’m coming in.”

“Oh, fuck you,” Aaron replied, without much passion. He was, by turns, outraged and numb at Andrew’s constant surveillance. Right now, he was just bored of it. He needed to get on with his life. He allowed himself three more minutes under the shower, then turned off the faucet and dried off. The bathroom lock had been unscrewed and taken away, along with the dresser and the pumice stone he kept around for Katelyn. How the hell was he supposed to hurt himself with a pumice stone? 

Anyway. He was normal now.

He threw on a pair of jeans and a t-shirt under a hoodie, and exited the bathroom with a yawn. Once he got moving again, he’d be less tired. The lethargy was half the problem. He packed his books, and hunted around for at least one pen. Neil had taken those away too, along with his laptop, compass and geometry tools. Seriously, what did they think he was going to do? Stab himself with a ballpoint? Whatever. He’d ask Katelyn for a pen.

He swung the bag on one shoulder and made it as far as the threshold of the bedroom before he saw Neil dart towards the dorm’s door. Andrew just sat there at the table, chin resting in his palm, observing Aaron like a particularly fascinating ant.

“Where do you think you’re going?” If he wasn’t so dead-eyed, Andrew would have sounded amused.

Aaron pressed his molars together again, and ignored the jolt of pain through his teeth. “To class,” he said, forcing himself to stay calm. If he lashed out like an idiot, he’d get nowhere. “I have double organic chemistry in an hour and then a lab. I can take my phone with me and keep in touch, if you like. But I’m really getting concerned about my attendance.”

Andrew’s expression was strange, caught between disbelief and boredom. He and Neil locked gazes, and Aaron resisted the urge to roll his eyes. 

“Nice try,” said Neil, settling in front of the door with a chair and a book of exy strategy. 

“What the fuck? I’m feeling fine. Look at me.” 

Neil turned a page. Andrew deigned him a brief, assessing glance, before pouring more Froot Loops into his bowl. Aaron flexed his hand, forcing away a surge of irritation. 

Fuck these two. Just because their grades didn’t matter to them didn’t mean Aaron’s GPA had to suffer. He made for the door, and Neil stood automatically, the book on the chair, his arms crossed. 

“Fuck off, Neil,” he said, shoving him aside. Neil grabbed his wrist as he curled his fingers around the doorknob, and with a start, Aaron found himself yanked backwards. Andrew had him by the hoodie. Like he was disciplining a misbehaving dog by its scruff. 

“No,” he said with finality, throwing Aaron backwards into the room so hard he lost his balance and nearly fell on his ass. “You are not stable yet.”

Aaron lost it. “Oh fuck you. Fuck you! I am!”

“Yesterday, you couldn’t even sit up in bed,” Neil supplied, his tone gratingly disinterested as he sat back down with his book. 

“That was yesterday. I’m fine now.”

“Dollar in the ‘fine’ jar,” Andrew drawled, and pointed in the direction of the bedroom. “You aren’t going anywhere. Put the bag down and sit.” 

The dose made the poison. Aaron knew this better than anybody. Even drinking too much water could be deadly. This confinement was the same. Maybe he’d needed it, earlier. He’d been sick. He understood that now. But back in his room with his bag on the floor and no other distractions, Aaron could not stop thinking about everything he was doing wrong. He was missing class. His GPA was going to tank. Homework was piling up. How would he finish it all? Maybe he could study, but he didn't have any writing tools. Aaron pulled out one of his textbooks at random. He could read. That would be fine. 

The sentences were thick and viscous, sticking to his eyes without permeating into his brain. He couldn’t focus. He needed to be outside. He needed to be in class. He needed Katelyn. She’d be in later, he knew. She’d been so good about showing up with extra notes and practice sheets for him. Yesterday, while he’d been virtually comatose in a pathetic depression heap, she’d sat by his bed and read out sections of their textbook, and her lilting, steady voice had coaxed responses out of him. Gentle ‘hmms’ and the occasional question. 

Hating himself, Aaron let the book drop to the bed and stalked back to the living room. Neil was still sitting at the door, reading. Andrew was on the couch, watching some TV show Aaron didn’t recognise, but his chin was tilted slightly towards the bedroom door, and Aaron knew he’d really been listening for sounds of distress. 

Aaron flopped down on the couch next to him. “This is boring.”

“You should have thought of that before you relapsed.”

Aaron ground his teeth again. He imagined the enamel flaking like fine dust. The pain in his jaw helped focus his swirling head. He’d always liked that about pain, even as a kid. He wasn’t spiralling when his mother hit him. He wasn’t having a panic attack when he got into a fight on the court. A punch to the face, a kick to the stomach, a broken bone, these things were like red dots on a map, points of return. Hours later, he’d prod his bruises and agitate his fractures, and breathe through the pain to calm down. 

He tightened his jaw again, and his teeth sent bolts of sharp pain all the way up to his temples. Aaron huffed softly and stared at the TV. “What are you even watching?”

“Antiques Roadshow.”

“God, can we at least watch something good?”

He didn’t think Andrew would listen, but after a moment of stillness, his brother passed him the remote. 

Aaron settled on a medical drama. He usually liked making fun of those. It was relaxing. It made him feel smart, which was vital fuel in a degree as difficult as his. Now, though, the sounds and visuals were too overstimulating. And the sight of fake blood, frankly, triggered him. He hadn’t even realised he’d been gritting his teeth and scratching the underside of his forearm before Andrew snapped his fingers in Aaron’s ear to get his attention and ordered, “Pick something else or I will.”

Aaron didn’t argue.  He just flipped through the channels again until they found one playing women’s basketball. Great. Engaging enough to be entertaining but categorically not exy. Neil glanced once at the TV, dismissed it entirely, and went back to his book. 

Aaron didn’t know the teams, but he still asked, “Which one are you supporting?”

Andrew, in an equally bored tone, said, “The ones with the yellow jerseys.”

“Okay. Then I’ll support the blues.” 

He heard Andrew breathe out what could have been a chuckle on another person. Despite everything, Aaron felt a little pleased with himself. It was not easy to tease out that kind of response from Andrew. And after the week they’d had, it was a fucking miracle. 

They watched in silence for ten minutes as the yellow team and the blue team played an even game. Aaron didn’t know enough about basketball to really track what was going on. He’d always been too short to get picked for the neighbourhood games, growing up. He inwardly, albeit disinterestedly, cheered when the blue team got a point. He felt his soul wither a little when the yellow team followed it up with a point of their own.

This was so depressing. 

He was so bored.

Could something interesting please just happen already? Maybe a car could explode in the parking lot. Maybe a hurricane could materialise out of this clear sky. Maybe aliens could finally invade earth. 

A sudden blare of noise had Aaron jumping up as a reflex. He wasn’t the only one. Neil leapt off his chair so quickly it fell over, and Andrew turned to look over his shoulder. The noise was unbearable, so loud Aaron couldn’t think, a constant screech—

“The fire alarm,” said Andrew, irritation peaking through his bored tone. “Probably just someone cooking lunch. We aren’t leaving.”

Aaron covered his ears. “Jesus Christ, I can’t think.” He made for the bedroom, to try and bury his head in his pillows. Neil followed, just to look through the window. 

“Andrew,” he called, seriously, “People are evacuating.”

Now Andrew was in the bedroom too, and Aaron threw himself down on the mattress to pull the blanket over his head. The alarm in his room was an assault, the noise almost a physical thing.

“There’s smoke,” Aaron heard Neil say over the noise. “On the first floor—look!” 

Andrew’s rough hand prodded through the blanket shield into Aaron’s shoulder. “Get up. We need to go.”

The sweetest four words in the English language. Aaron shot out of bed and pushed his way out of the bedroom, past the couch and through the front door. An iron grip caught his wrist. 

Neil’s eyes were cold.

“You’re staying with us.”

Aaron yanked his hands free. “There’s a fire, you idiot. Stop playing mafioso for five minutes and move your ass.”

The stairs were clogged with a whole variety of PSU athletes pushing and shoving their way into the sunshine, and when the stairwell puked out a stream of bodies, Aaron found himself momentarily separated from his captors. He couldn’t see Neil or Andrew behind him, but he could still hear the fire alarm, so loud it made his eyes water. He broke away from the group, walking fast, hands on his ears, almost hyperventilating in his desperation to get some fucking silence. 

And as the noise grew distant, as his slippered feet hit gravel and small stones scratched the sides of his heels, he suddenly realised he was standing on a sidewalk. Alone.

The realisation drew a gasp from him.

Wait—really? 

He was alone?

He turned his head. Fox Tower loomed in the distance. He could still hear the fire alarm, but it was muted. He was too far to make out any faces in the crowd beneath the building. Aaron took a big breath and let it out, and as he did, he smiled for the first time in eight days.

Finally. Freedom.

He whirled around and broke into a light jog, just to get the blood flowing again. He’d become too used to athletics. He wasn’t a great fan of exy, but moving after eight days of confinement felt amazing. It didn’t matter that his house slippers made his gait unsteady or pinched his toes. He ran until he’d developed a light sweat, until his breathing turned sharper, until he was almost at the edge of the university campus. 

Okay. Now what?

He should have just gone to class, probably, but he didn’t have his books on him and at this point he was too late, anyway. Aaron ran his hands through his hair and enjoyed another freeing breath. Maybe today was just his day to enjoy the outdoors. It was gorgeous outside, bright, but pleasantly cloudy, neither hot nor too cold. He didn’t have any money for food, but he’d walk around for a bit and then head back in time for lunch. Andrew and Neil were going to be pissed, but whatever. They’d been pissing him off all damn week. 

There was a park nearby that he and Katelyn liked to go to. They’d pack a picnic with sandwiches and fruit. Sometimes they’d just hang out and talk, or quiz each other before a test. One memorable time when they’d been particularly alone, they’d shared a quickie in the bushes. For the rest of that day, whenever Aaron had found a stray blade of grass or a twig on his clothes, he’d been practically giddy. 

Even now, the memory drew a tired smile as he made his way over.

There weren’t too many people. He figured most students were in class, so the only ones around were mothers with strollers and dog walkers. Aaron found a patch of grass half-shadowed by a tree. The earth was cool, pleasant. He allowed himself a big sigh as he lay down. Okay, this was nice. Now he could take stock of recent events.

He hadn’t been himself lately. He’d relapsed. He’d said the nastiest things to Andrew and Neil during withdrawal. He appreciated that Andrew hadn’t locked him in the fucking bathroom again, that he’d listened to Katelyn, actually gone to Abby, actually done this the right way. The rapid taper had been hell, but it was a lesser evil than being forced to come down alone on a cold bathroom floor.  He knew he had a lot of recovery ahead of him still. He’d have to see Bee every day for a while. He had to keep himself on the straight and narrow. He could do that. He’d done it before. One fuck up wasn’t going to define his whole life. 

He shut his eyes to focus on the warmth of sunlight on his face. He was still quite tired, even though all he’d done over the last forty-eight hours was sleep. Aaron was halfway to drifting off when a siren pierced the air, and he sat up with a start, his heart racing so hard he could have thrown up. An ambulance wailed in the distance, shooting past the park and turning the corner. Oh. Oh. Okay. No problem. Just someone else’s emergency. One day he would be a doctor and he’d be on call for emergencies just like this.

If he ever salvaged his fucking GPA. What the hell was he doing, lying in a park? He had classes. He had labs. Pop quizzes and tests. Aaron stood, his temples buzzing. Even though the ambulance was gone, the sound of the siren rang and rang in his head. He covered his face. The sunlight was too bright, the air too sweet with the scent of too many fresh flowers. A sudden spike of nausea had him pacing. He had to get out of here. He had to keep moving. 

Failure. His mother’s voice sneered in his head, cutting through the noise. He tried to outrun it. But it just grew louder. He’d relapsed. And there was no telling if he’d ever truly be clean again. If he became a doctor—if—he’d be surrounded by all sorts of drugs. Morphine, fent, benzos, IVs and pills, a candy store of deadly decisions. Minyards don’t get higher than rock bottom.

“Shut the fuck up,” he groaned, burying his face in his hands. “Shut up, shut up, shut up right now.” 

Katelyn’s stomach dropped to her knees when she saw the Maserati. Although Andrew was no longer threatening her, his presence was still unsettling. That and the fact that they were here, Andrew and Neil, outside her class, meant that something was wrong. No way they would have left Aaron to his devices. As she approached, she wondered for a crazy moment if Aaron was in the car with them. Maybe he’d talked them into driving him to class, though it frankly seemed unlikely. She trusted them with his safety because they weren’t so easily swayed.

Andrew crushed his cigarette underfoot as she approached.

“Is Aaron with you?” Neil started.

Pure dread filled her chest. “No.” She looked from Andrew to Neil. “You lost him?” 

“There was a fire alarm.” Andrew’s voice was stiff with leashed anger. “He slipped away.”

“He was talking about going to organic chemistry, we figured he may have—” 

Katelyn interrupted Neil. “I was just in OChem, he wasn’t there.” And he was on suicide watch. This was not good. Yesterday, Aaron had been practically comatose, curled in bed, by turns sleeping, sobbing, and staring vacantly at the hole in the ceiling where Andrew had dismantled the ceiling fan. Earlier in the week, Aaron had made a snippy comment about hanging himself from the blades and Andrew and Neil had covered their bases by taking away every single potentially dangerous thing out of the room. Andrew hadn’t even let Katelyn see him without first getting her to take out her pens and pencils from her backpack.

She forced away a wave of fear. Fear wouldn’t help her right now. 

“Did you check the library?” 

“Yes,” Andrew said, almost snapping. “Obviously.”

“Wymack and Dan are checking around Fox Tower and the cafeteria,” Neil supplied. “Matt and Kevin have driven to the bridge. Nicky’s in the dorm, in case he comes back. Betsy said if we don’t find him in the next hour, we need to call the cops. He’s a danger to himself.”

“Tell me where else he frequents,” Andrew ordered. And to her shock, he opened the back door of the Mas. “And get inside. We don’t have much time. I don’t want to have to involve the police.”

Katelyn shoved away her apprehension and hopped into the backseat. Andrew and Neil got in the front. “There’s a cafe we go to, just off campus, on 4th street. It’s called Rosie’s. And there’s a bookstore just after it.”

“I know the one,” Andrew muttered.

“And there’s a park,” Katelyn added, remembering. “It’s close to campus, we have picnics there sometimes.”

“The park first.” The Maserati whirred to life. 

Aaron wanted to pull his brain out of his eyes and stomp it until it was pulp. He’d eaten brain before. He and Katelyn had gone to a restaurant where they served a goat’s brain curry. Aaron, ever the aspiring neurosurgeon, had been so excited to try it. But he’d found the texture strange, too gelatinous. It broke apart too easily in his mouth, almost like soft tofu. He spent more time observing the gyri, poking it with a fork and pulling it apart as if he were performing some sort of bizarre culinary surgery. 

By the time he left the park he was grinding his teeth so bad he was giving himself a headache. He needed to get into a fight. He needed some asshole to come at him with fists flying. He needed someone to break his jaw, shatter his orbital bone, maybe crack a rib. He needed something honest, something clean, and pain was the cleanest thing in the world. 

He had no money for drugs right now, anyway. And he frankly was too scared of Andrew’s reaction to risk it again. Besides, the health risks of it were swirling in his head, not to mention the shameshameshame of Abby seeing him like that. She’d probably lost all respect for him over the last week. What sort of aspiring doctor tripped out on Adderall like this? Pathetic. He was a loser. Minyards don’t get higher than rock bottom.

Fuck. He needed some clarity. He wanted to scream. He wanted to swallow bleach. He wanted to jump off a roof. He instinctively pulled his gaze up to the sky. Any of these buildings would do. There was clarity in the thought of falling, the inevitability of hitting the ground. Gravity, concrete, these things did not lie. Grounding. Hah. Yes. He needed to feel grounded. 

Aaron dug his fingers into his forearm and tore his skin back. The first scratch left a faint red imprint. His nails had grown out a bit. Andrew and Neil had taken away every weapon, including the fucking nailcutter. Hah. Hah, hah, fucking hah. Aaron blinked and breathed through the burning pain. He’d left deep red impressions on his skin, pulling off the first few layers of dermis. 

He stared at the red, thinking it wasn’t red enough. The medical drama he’d seen that morning with their fake blood. The flowers in the park, red like a punched tooth. Aaron pulled down his sleeve, relishing in the burn but craving something more focused. He walked into a small general store and made straight for the pharmacy section. 

He did a cursory glance at the cough syrups. 

No, bad idea, his brain supplied. Anyway. Numbness wasn’t what he wanted. He wanted the sweet, sharp bite of pain. 

He wanted blood.

He spotted a pack of double-sided blades on the shelf and swiftly put it in his pocket. His mother had raised him on shoplifting. He was in and out of the store in ten smooth minutes, the bored teen at the register none the wiser. 

Aaron walked with purpose until he found a quiet spot. He didn’t even know where he was, but the buildings were starting to look more familiar. More students. Maybe he was back around PSU again. It didn’t matter. Here, behind a student residence, the air was quiet and he was good and alone. Tall bushes hid him in green shadows as he opened the pack and slipped a blade out of its tidy folded paper wrapping. 

Right. So. He used to do this when he was little. When the comedown got too intense and he couldn’t find more drugs. He used to do it on his hips, but he didn’t have the time or privacy for that right now. The easiest place to access was his forearm, and anyway, that was where all the good arteries were, and that was where the best blood was, and he needed to see it, he needed to feel himself bleed out, he had to be able to shut his eyes and focus on the sensation of it trickling down his skin. 

He rolled up his sleeve and traced a line with his finger along the radial artery. He looked at the blade. Just like a scalpel, silver and glinting. He wanted to be a doctor.

It pierced his skin, decisive and clean, and the pain was so bright and shocking it drew a gasp from his lips. He cut through white flesh until it turned red, and didn’t stop until he’d reached halfway down his forearm. 

“Think, Katelyn,” Andrew ground out. Every minute they wasted was a minute that Aaron could be dead. He wasn’t at the park, the cafe, or the bookstore. Katelyn had texted everyone she knew to keep an eye out for Aaron, and had asked one of her friends, Emma, if she knew any dealers. She had to explain why, and she knew Emma was going to ask her lots of questions about this, but she had at least offered Katelyn a few names. Katelyn, Andrew, and Neil had gone to each of the dealers to check if Aaron had come by. They were running out of options.

“Matt’s calling,” said Neil, putting the phone to his ear. She and Andrew watched with held breath as Neil hummed into the phone and hung up. “No sign of Aaron at the bridge.”

Andrew clenched the steering wheel. “We’re going to the Vixens dorms,” he decided, and pulled the car back onto the road. “He’s friends with all of you cheerleaders, isn’t he?”

“They haven’t seen him,” Katelyn said. “I’ve told them to keep looking.” Still, she didn’t protest as Andrew kept driving. 

His hoodie sleeve was soaked red when Aaron dropped the blade to the ground. He took several gasping breaths, staring in fascination at the damage he’d done. There was so much blood. If he just sat here in silence for a bit, he would bleed out. The pain blanked his mind, silencing his mother, the cravings, the raging disappointment of himself. 

And in the silence came the clarity. 

He stared at the blood that was now dripping onto the pavement and thought, oh, fuck.

Oh, fuck. Fuck. Fuck. What had he just done?

Aaron took a shaky breath and clamped down on the wound. No. No, shit, fuck. He’d cut too deep. It was too clean, too long. Thick red arterial blood was oozing out of his body and if he left it like this he was going to die. He’d cut lengthwise, not crosswire, which meant the chance of fatal exanguination was high. Hadn’t he read a research paper about this a while ago? 

He looked around. He didn’t have a phone and he needed help. Where the fuck was he?

Wait, he recognised—yeah, he knew this building. He blinked and squeezed his arm. The pain roared across his nerves and refocused him. This was a student residence near Fox Tower. He’d walked so long he’d come all the way around. He was closer to the Foxhole Court. To Wymack’s office. 

“Shit,” he muttered, trembling, and pushed himself off the wall. Wymack was going to lose his mind at this. 

Wymack had high hopes for Aaron Minyard. But honestly, he’d been expecting some sort of breakdown for a while. Aaron had held himself together by a thread during the trial. That with his past and his academic pressures—Wymack was surprised it hadn’t happened sooner.

And now he was missing. And there was a chance he might be dead. 

The hour was running up as Wymack, who’d been driving around half the campus, came back to the Court and to his office. He was going to have to call Andrew, and then he was going to have to call the cops, and this was going to be a giant shitshow. The media would have a field day. Exy Killer Kills Self. Jesus Christ.

No. He had high hopes for Aaron Minyard. That kid was going to make it out. He’d known it from the first time he’d set eyes on him. Aaron had the glare of someone who refused to get distracted.

He buzzed into the building and went up the flight of stairs. And he stopped short at the figure on the floor.

Aaron was crouched outside his office, breathing hard, clutching his arm, dripping on the linoleum, pale as a damn ghost.

“Aaron.”

He looked up. “Coach,” he said weakly. “I fucked up. I fucked up. I’m so sorry. I don’t…” he shook his head and then grimaced, pressing it back against the door. “I’m so dizzy.”

“All right, all right,” Wymack said, mostly to get himself under control. He crouched before Aaron and pried the hand off his arm to survey the damage. Aaron had, with almost medical accuracy, sliced a clean line down his forearm. The bleeding was thick, dark, and constant, and enough to send a surge of panic across Wymack’s body. 

No. He had to keep his head.

“Up,” he said, gentle but firm, looping his arms under Aaron’s shoulders and getting him to stand. Aaron swayed dangerously to the side, and Wymack steadied him under his own arm. “There we go. We’re going to Abby’s office. One foot in front of the other.”

Aaron complied in a slow, trembling, hypovolemic fog, leaving an actual trail of blood as he went. Luckily, Abby’s clinic was in the same building, though it was a slight trek.  

“I feel nauseated,” Aaron muttered.

“It’s the blood loss.” 

It felt like the longest walk of his life. But Wymack finally got to the clinic and threw the door open without knocking. Abby startled, and then she saw Aaron and her face blanched.

“Oh, fuck,” she said, and he’d never known her to swear. She seemed to collect herself in the next second because she helped Aaron settled on the bed and immediately started her first aid. Wymack knew better than to hover. He was no more help now. He just stepped out of the office, shutting the door behind him. His own hands were smeared red as he pulled out his phone. 

Andrew answered on the first ring.

“Is he dead?” 

Wymack shut his eyes. What a thing to have to ask. “No,” he said steadily. 

There was a momentary pause. 

“Is he hurt?”

“Yes.” 

“Badly?” Maybe it was his imagination, but Andrew almost sounded afraid.

“Bad enough that he scared me. Not so bad that he won’t survive it. Abby is fixing him up now. But—Andrew,” he bit back hiss of worry. “There was a lot of blood.” 

Andrew said nothing. Then, “We’re coming.” 

Less than five minutes later, Wymack heard the canter of three sets of footsteps. Andrew led the charge, marching down the corridor. Neil was behind him. Bringing up the rear was Katelyn, her face ashen as she threw terrified glances at the bloodstains in the corridor. 

Andrew blew past Wymack without a word and opened the door to Abby’s clinic. 

“Only one of you,” she snapped without looking up. Neil nudged Katelyn, who reluctantly followed him out. Wymack met Andrew’s gaze. Andrew stood by Aaron’s feet, arms crossed, his stare empty. 

Wymack stepped out and shut the door again. 

“You need to go to a hospital,” Abby said, but she didn’t stop stitching. 

“No,” Aaron muttered, shutting his eyes. The darkness spun. “They’ll admit me.”

“Of course they will,” he heard Andrew say from somewhere in the room. His voice sounded so far away. “You tried to commit suicide.”

“...No.” Had he tried that? No—no, it wasn’t…he didn’t. “No.”

“Maybe the damage isn’t as bad as I thought,” Abby went on, almost muttering to herself. To Andrew, she added, “He cut lengthwise, but couldn’t get a consistent grip on the blade. The wound is deeper at the top, but tapers as it goes down.”

“Is it arterial?” Andrew’s voice was cold and quiet.

Abby didn’t answer immediately. “Yes.” And then, “if he’d used a knife, he’d be dead.”

Aaron stared at the ceiling, in a way, almost disappointed. So he hadn’t even done a good job. He was just failing at everything, wasn’t he? The room just kept spinning, a slow plaster-of-paris waltz before his eyes. His vision was darkening. 

“Andrew,” he heard Abby say. “Keep him talking. I don’t want him passing out.”

A sudden grip on his leg drew his eyelids open. “Katelyn’s perfume,” said Andrew without preamble. “What is it? My whole car smells of it.”

“What?” Aaron murmured. The answer emerged slowly through the haze in his head. “Citrus…um…no…Neroli,” he said vaguely. “Neroli Portofino eau de parfum, Tom Ford. It was a gift from her sister. Why was she in your car?”

“She was helping me look for you.” Andrew squeezed his ankle again, as if to give him something to focus on. “You know her perfume off the top of your head?”

Despite everything, Aaron let out a tired chuckle. “Yeah? Obviously?”

“Pathetic,” said Andrew, and then, “You are so whipped.”

Andrew barricaded the door. Not that it seemed to matter, anyway. Aaron was practically lifeless, a heap on his bed with one arm wrapped in rolls of white gauze. Abby had sent them off with a stern order to bring him around tomorrow. The dressing had to be changed every day. How stupid. How frustrating. Andrew was so angry with himself. How could he have let this happen? He knew Aaron was going to try and bolt at the first opportunity. There hadn’t even been a real fire. Some idiot footballer had just burnt something in the oven. There’d been a lot of smoke, enough to cause panic, but no flames. Everything would have been just fine if they’d stayed put inside the dorm for ten more minutes. 

Aaron had the blankets pulled up to his chin. He didn’t meet Andrew’s gaze.

Andrew crouched down by his head. 

“So,” he said. “You had a small taste of freedom and you blew it.”

He said nothing, but Andrew didn’t expect him to. What was there left to say now, anyway?

“Now you’re back on 24/7 surveillance again, you realise that, right? You’re not leaving this room. Not even to go to the living room. You lost those privileges.” 

Aaron just sighed. “For how long?”

“For as long as we deem necessary.” 

“Fine.” Aaron just turned on his side. “Fine. Just. Whatever. Let me sleep.” 

Andrew hovered as Aaron slept, obsessively watching the rise and fall of his chest. Some small part of him had hoped his had been wrong. That it was overkill to put Aaron on suicide watch. And even as Aaron had spent the week angry, depressed, sick, and making offhand comments about the ceiling fan, Andrew had hoped it was just venom and empty threats. Naive. Stupid. 

Aaron slept and slept, only waking up when Neil came in with food on a tray and a plastic bag. Aaron had a look on his face Andrew was starting to recognise, vague disgust mixed with exhaustion, the expression he made any time he was around food. He might refuse to eat. 

“It’s potato soup,” Neil said. “Nicky made it.” He set it down on the desk with breadsticks and a pudding cup. Aaron raised his hand to rub his eyes. The bandages peeked through the sleeve of his sweatshirt. 

“Later,” he murmured. “Just…later, I can’t right now.”

“Yeah, I thought you’d say that.” Neil produced a bottle of blue Gatorade from the bag and opened it. “Drink that, then. And there’s some candy too if that’s easier. But eat something.” 

Maybe it was shame or guilt, but Aaron didn’t put up much of a fight. He just allowed Neil to pass him the Gatorade, holding it with his good hand, and took small sips. He managed half the bottle and a KitKat before he lay back down again. Neil shot Andrew a look. 

You okay?

Andrew shrugged. He wasn’t. But he would be, at some point.

It was scarier now that the fight seemed to have left Aaron entirely. At least when he was arguing, Andrew knew how to help. He didn’t know how to fix this, this listless, vacant, nothing. Aaron slept and slept. When he awoke, he barely talked, barely ate. Andrew allowed Katelyn into the room around ten pm. She had, in the past, proven successful in getting him to function. To drink water. To eat. Now she curled up in bed with him, his face pressed into her stomach. Andrew watched for a moment more, but neither seemed to notice his presence. He walked out and shut the door. 

Aaron was somehow worse the next day. His depression was so bad he barely drank water, and categorically refused to get out of bed to see Abby.

“You need to change your dressing,” Andrew snapped. “You’re going to get an infection.”

“Whatever.” 

Andrew wanted to haul him up, but some stupid fear kept him from pushing too hard. Aaron looked so frighteningly breakable, and Andrew didn’t trust his own rough hands. He knew this feeling. Almost too well. He knew just how fragile he got, how deep he burrowed, how hard it was to move, to think, to even breathe.

How desperately he dreamed of being cared for.

Andrew pulled out his phone, making a decision, and texted Abby. 

I’m changing his bandages here.

Why?

He can’t get out of bed.

Do you know what you’re doing?

Yes.

Okay. Call if there are any problems. 

He texted Neil a list of first-aid supplies, and when Neil returned with two bags full, Andrew dismissed him from the room. Aaron was asleep on his side, with his bad hand towards the wall, inaccessible. Andrew shook him awake to roll him over.

“Sit up,” he said, with more gentleness than he knew he was capable of. Aaron rubbed his face again.

“Andrew, I can’t. I can’t go out, I can’t.” He took a big, shaky breath, almost unaware of the way Andrew was helping him sit up against his pillows.

“Quiet. Quiet.” He held Aaron’s gauze-wrapped arm. “I’m changing them here.” 

“What?” Aaron’s brain seemed to catch up to what was happening as Andrew began to cut away the old gauze. He’d have to make sure the scissors were out of Aaron’s reach at all times, but mercifully, Aaron didn’t make a move to grab them. “Andrew, no,” Aaron protested, trying to pull his arm out of Andrew’s grip. He just ended up jerking it and wincing. “It—it’s—”

“I know.” Andrew knew what this was going to look like. “I wouldn’t be doing it if I didn’t think I could handle it.”

Aaron’s eyes widened. He quickly dropped his gaze, clutching the blanket with his other hand. That was fine by Andrew. As long as he didn’t move or make this any harder than it had to be.

Andrew’s first real look at the injury had him almost impressed with the precision. His own self-harm had always been haphazard, a constellation of injuries in no real order. Aaron had acted with a vision, a single straight line halfway up his forearm. Abby had sutured it back expertly,  but it was going to leave a scar. 

“Do you want armbands?” Andrew asked softly as he began to work. He first had to clean it with peroxide. Aaron flinched, but Andrew didn’t let him pull away. 

“What?”

“I can buy you an armband. If you want.”

Aaron’s stare swivelled back to Andrew, and then dropped down to the wound. 

“I…I don’t know. Can I think about it?”

“Yes.” 

“I’m sorry.”

“Were you trying to commit suicide?”

“I don’t know,” Aaron said again, softer now. “I just…I needed to feel…” he trailed off, but Andrew let him work it out. They had all day and then some. Andrew just wiped crusted blood off the sutures, making sure he worked slowly, deliberately. He didn’t want to touch Aaron more than necessary. For both their sakes.

“I needed to see my blood,” Aaron answered finally. “I needed to feel pain. I needed to stop thinking.”

Andrew hummed. “You’ve done this before.”  

“A few times,” Aaron admitted. “When I was a kid. On my hips.”

“Does the cheerleader know?”

“She knows everything.” Aaron shut his eyes. “Why did you do it?”

Andrew paused in his ministrations, and Aaron misinterpreted the silence.

“Sorry. Don’t answer.”

“I needed to control my own body.” Andrew squeezed an antiseptic balm onto the cut. “I control where I bleed. I control how much I bleed. I control when it stops.”

“It’s never going to stop.” He almost didn’t hear Aaron say it. But then his eyes flicked to Aaron’s face. His skin was grey. He was staring at the hole in the ceiling where the fan used to be. “This is what my life is going to be.” 

“Chemically speaking, that is incorrect.” Andrew waited until his words registered, until he knew he had Aaron’s attention. This was how Aaron saw the world, rules and science and chemicals. It was the only way Andrew knew to comfort him. “The Adderall has robbed your brain of its ability to create dopamine. It will take a few weeks for your brain to get its faculties back. So it’s not going to be like this forever. A month, maybe.” 

Aaron blinked, and then let out a soft huff, almost a laugh. “Right,” he muttered. “Okay.”

Neither spoke again until Andrew unrolled fresh gauze to wrap his sutures. 

“Are you planning to keep me here for a month, then?”

“That depends on you. Are you planning to repeat this stunt?”

Aaron’s silence told him everything he needed to know. 

“I didn’t mean for this to happen,” said Aaron finally. “I was just…I went to the park. I just wanted to stretch my legs. I don’t…” he frowned at himself, and flinched again as Andrew tied off the gauze. Aaron couldn’t stop himself from examining the wrapwork. He must have felt it was adequate enough because he lowered his arm and mumbled an awkward thanks. Andrew made sure to clean up well, leaving no trace of anything Aaron could hurt himself with. He opened the door and dropped it just outside the threshold before shutting it again. 

Andrew turned slowly. He needed to say this. 

“You’re not allowed to die.”

Aaron stared. He looked exhausted. His eyes were sunken in, and he was still pale from the blood loss. 

“Do you understand,” Andrew forged on. “I will not let you. And the harder you try, the crueller I will be in dragging you back from the brink. To use one of Neil’s irritating exy phrases: the ball is in your Court. You get to decide how this next month plays out.” 

It was another moment before Aaron nodded his compliance. “Yeah,” he added. “I understand.” 

“Good.”

And Andrew settled back at his perch against the door, arms crossed, on guard.