“How much coffee are you drinking now, Darren?”
“Two cups a day.”
“And he’s allowed one more of decaf if he gets really pissy,” Jayden added, and the doctor chuckled.
“That sounds much more reasonable. Have you felt otherwise well since we last spoke?”
“Okay, yeah.”
“Just ‘okay’?”
Darren shrugged. “Yeah. Not bad, but not great.”
The doctor hummed. “Well, I would rather like to get you above just ‘okay’ but we’ll see. I have been looking into available options should we need to turn to drug treatments, but hopefully that won’t be necessary. If it has to be done, I can arrange for the first couple of weeks to be spent under observation in…”
“No,” Darren said sharply. Jayden clutched his hand tightly.
“You can’t put him away!” he protested.
“That’s not what I was suggesting,” the doctor said calmly. “It would merely be a stay in a residential psychiatric clinic until the initial side effects of the medication eased. Effectively a suicide watch. It’s a private clinic, but they do accept a few NHS patients on referral throughout the year. It would be a six week stay, or up to eight weeks if the side effects do linger.”
“I’m not going to a nuthouse,” Darren said harshly, and the doctor nodded.
“Very well. It is academic for the moment anyhow, and of course up to you,” he said, rattling away on his keyboard for a moment. “I would recommend you talk to someone—try and find out what’s most comfortable for you. Some people prefer to remain entirely anonymous on the internet, and others prefer to have a friend or relative as a confidante. I would suggest you look into these options, find something that works for you, and come back to me if you find nothing, or if you experience a depressive episode. Otherwise, we’ll have another check-up in March. Continue with the diet and exercise, and see if the adjustments help.”
Darren was standing almost before the doctor had finished talking, and Jayden rattled off a hurried thanks and goodbye before following him. “Darren.”
“I’m not going to a nuthouse,” Darren repeated firmly, already halfway to the surgery entrance. His voice sounded very tight, like a wire stretched taut, and Jayden knew that sound. It was the way his voice went right before he cried, and it sound of it created a sharp stab of pain in Jayden’s chest.
“No, you’re not,” he agreed, caught Darren’s elbow, and squeezed his arm. “I wouldn’t let you go either, you know that.”
The tense set of Darren’s shoulders eased fractionally.
“If it comes to drugs, Rachel and I already talked about it and we’ll set up something at home to keep an eye on you for the first few weeks,” Jayden soothed. “You’re not going on any residential course or anything like that. I won’t let them put you there, and I won’t try and make you go myself. I promise.”
Darren relaxed, and Jayden nudged their shoulders lightly.
“Promise,” he whispered again, and Darren nodded jerkily.
“Okay,” he said, and the thin quality to his voice had eased somewhat. Jayden bit his lip.
“Smile for me?” he whispered.
Darren raised an eyebrow.
“You should,” Jayden said. “We’re seeing Paul and Ethan at the weekend, remember? And that’s a nice hotel Paul booked for us, I checked it out online, and I have your Christmas vouchers.”
Darren snorted, but an exasperated smile did wash over those angular features, and Jayden smiled, kissing him briefly in the waiting room in front of a huddle of old people awaiting flu jabs and small children with runny noses. One old lady harrumphed indignantly and loudly told her grandson not to look.
“Oh, get fucked,” Darren told her, equally loudly, and Jayden rolled his eyes and pulled him towards the door.
“We’ll be fine,” he promised as they fled the disease factory into the icy January frost, and Darren squeezed his hand tightly. “You’ll be fine.”
“Yeah,” he said.
In time, Jayden decided, Darren would sound convinced about that.
* * * *
On Saturday morning, they went to London.
It involved getting up stupidly early, and Jayden had to more-or-less steer a mostly-asleep Darren to the train station, through the barriers, and onto the train, capitulating and buying him a small cup of coffee in apology from the trolley when it came round, and then letting him settle against the window and doze off again. He’d had a late shift on Friday night, and maybe it was a bit unfair they couldn’t put it off, but it would be really rude and anyway, seeing the nutters Darren still called friends would take his mind off the doctor maybe. So Jayden didn’t feel too bad, especially when, as they pulled away from Basingstoke, Darren stirred sleepily, blinked at the icy world outside, and turned to slump against Jayden’s shoulder instead. He was warm, and his curls tickled, and Jayden pressed his cheek to Darren’s scalp in a vague imitation of a hug, and continued reading his magazine. This was his world, this tiny space in two seats with Darren and a magazine, and everything going on in their lives paused, for a brief second, and Jayden was happy.
Once they reached London, it was a case of waiting—Paul had decided he would pick them up, because Paul had typically gone into a job in finance and therefore could actually afford to drive in London, and in a very flash car as well—and so Jayden roused Darren enough to walk him off the train and into the closest cafe, and placed a small bucket of decaffeinated tea in front of him.
“I’ll let you sleep at the hotel,” he promised.
“You won’t,” Darren said darkly, sipping the tea gingerly and pulling a face. “This is disgusting.”
“Well, you’re not having any more coffee.”
“Bastard.”
Jayden rolled his eyes, and squeezed Darren’s hand over the table. “You’ll get used to life without caffeine.”
“No, I won’t.”
“Yes, you will.”
“No, I won’t,” Darren insisted, and yawned widely, retracting his hand to cover his mouth briefly before returning it and wriggling his fingers back under Jayden’s. “I am in mourning for the loss of my beloved coffee. We need to have a funeral, for closure and shit, and I’m going to wear black for the rest of my life.”
“Your hair is nearly black.”
“Nearly black doesn’t begin to address the depths of my grief.”
Jayden laughed, then his eye was caught and he smiled. “There he is,” he said, raising a hand to wave as a tall figure in a polo shirt and baggy jeans meandered into the station foyer, underdressed for the cold and beaming.
“Kill me,” Darren said.
“Beatnik!” Paul crowed, pacing towards them on ridiculously long legs and stooped to hug Darren briefly. “Drink your swill and let’s go. I parked in the taxi rank.”
Darren grunted, unfolding from the seat with another yawn and leaving his bag for Jayden; Paul raised his eyebrows.
“He all right?”
“Just tired,” Jayden said, and they both winced at the use of one of Darren’s favourite excuses. “Legitimately tired,” he amended. “He was on the late shift last night, he didn’t get much sleep. He didn’t get in until five this morning. And he’s not allowed coffee anymore.”
“Ah,” Paul said and grinned again. “So how’re you then, mate?”
Paul had changed a lot in some ways, and very little in others. His appearance had definitely changed since he’d gotten his job at the bank: he’d grown his hair and controlled it now in neat cornrows, and he had grown an impressive beard for No-Shave November to raise money for prostate cancer last year. (He’d raised more when he’d shaved it off.) His dubious taste in fashion as a teenager had subsided, and now he wore tidy jeans and T-shirts or suits almost perpetually. He had been tall, well built, and vaguely intimidating since leaving school, but now his easy wealth and brash confidence in even the way he walked had added to it.
And yet he hadn’t changed e
ither. His enquiry was genuine, but once reassured it passed and he poked fun at Darren like he always did. He was still cheerful, still breezy, and still sharper than Jayden ever quite managed to remember, half-hidden under the cheerful and casual demeanour with which he tended to handle his friends. He was still Paul and it was nice to think that even if Ethan was getting married and the four of them lived in completely separate places these days, some things weren’t going to change.
He drove—the flash car, this year, was an Audi with the latest plates—with pop music on the radio, and Jayden took the front passenger seat to let Darren slowly wake up properly in the back, blinking drowsily at the outside world. At least he wasn’t particularly grumpy—yet, for him—about the caffeine withdrawal, and Jayden was used to dealing with a tired Darren anyway.
Maybe he won’t be so tired when he gets better, that little voice in the back of Jayden’s mind suggested, and he bit his lip. If he gets better. It had been too many years for Jayden to quite believe that Darren was ever going to be completely fine for good, but…he’d take some of the time.
“Okay?” Paul asked, swinging the car too sharply around a corner, and Jayden clutched the door and pushed the musings away.
“I will be once we’re there,” he sniped, and Darren chuckled lowly from the back.
“Your driving sucks,” he said.
“I never tried to take my car off the road.”
Jayden’s head snapped around. “What?”
Paul grimaced.
“Cheers,” Darren said sourly, and Jayden twisted in his seat to stare at him.
“What does he mean, take your car off the road?” Jayden demanded.
“Later,” Darren said as Paul parked—or rather, zipped into an on-street parking bay and hauled on the handbrake whilst still holding down the accelerator, and letting the car make an alarming noise. “Later, Jayden, all right? We’ve got shit to do, and it’s not important.”
Jayden pursed his lips as he got out, and snapped, “You’re going to explain as soon as we’re done here,” the minute that he got out of the car. Darren winced.
“It’s old,” he said flatly, then a shop door opened and Ethan came loping out, cheering and grabbing them both around the necks in a joint hug. He hadn’t changed much either—a little weight gain, a long overdue haircut, and finally learning what jeans were instead of fancy linen things—but the same enthusiastic greeting and wide grin full of childish glee. The same floppy poshness to his hair and lanky gait. The same smile that made him look stupid—and yet, like Paul, his intelligence always startled Jayden afresh every time.
“You,” Ethan prodded Darren in the chest. “You gonna play at my shindig or what?”
“Working on it,” Darren said and smacked the hand away. “Depends on what you’re making me wear. I’m not going to be looking like a pouf.”
“You are a pouf,” Paul pointed out.
Ethan waved them towards the shop. It was a professional tailoring shop, complete with musty smell and shelves of random fabrics and shirts, and Ethan handed a slip of paper to the hovering attendant. “We kind of guessed your sizes,” he said and leaned against the counter, grinning widely. “You get to meet her tonight!”
“Lucky us,” Darren said dryly.
“Bitch,” Ethan said and grabbed Darren’s hair to haul him into a long-overdue hug. Despite the secondment, they hadn’t actually seen each other since last Christmas, thanks to work.
“Get off me,” Darren grumbled, tolerating the attention for maybe a minute before shoving him away. “You’re like a massive kid, seriously. And congrats on the hitched thing, however long that’s going to last.”
“You wound me,” Ethan said, punching him in the arm. “Still gay?”
“Still stupid?”
“Ignore the bitch, he’s being weaned off caffeine,” Paul said, and Ethan smirked wickedly.
“Fuck you.” Darren rolled his eyes. “So what’s your bird like then?”
“Lillian,” Ethan said and beamed. “Brilliant. Like amazing.”
“Rich? Stunning? Plays polo at weekends carrying a glass of champagne? Tits like…”
“Darren!” Jayden exclaimed.
“…a couple of Waitrose’s best watermelons?” Darren finished ruthlessly, and Paul cackled with laughter.
“None of the above.” Ethan rolled his eyes. “She’s a jewellery designer, she’s from Devon, and she’s amazing in bed.”
“…And she’s fucking you?” Darren asked incredulously. Jayden rolled his eyes in admonishment. “What? It’s a legit question.”
“She is, and she’s amazing,” Ethan reiterated firmly, handing a receipt to the tailor, who scurried into a back room with it. “Even if she does have a weird thing for ribbed condoms,” he added after a moment’s thought.
“So does he,” Darren jerked a thumb at Jayden, who flushed furiously and hit him. “Ow! What! You do!”
“That doesn’t mean the whole world has to know!” Jayden protested hotly, flushing harder when Paul laughed. “At least I don’t have to have the right flavoured lube.”
“That blueberry one was rank,” Darren said calmly.
“Why was it in your mouth in the first place?” Paul asked, then winced. “No. No, no, no. Forget I asked.”
“Because I was ea…”
“No!”
“I have a very talented mouth,” Darren said and grinned when Paul put his hands over his ears and sang loudly. “Jesus, when’d you get prudish?”
“I don’t want to imagine it!”
“You can’t,” Darren said. “It’s epic. Especially when…”
Paul hit him. Darren laughed. “Fuck yes!” Ethan said and leaned around the other two to ask Jayden, “Why ribbed?”
“Feels good,” Jayden shrugged, the angry heat fading slowly from his face. He felt a little uncomfortable, truth be told, about airing that kind of detail in public, even in front of friends, but the anguished expression on Paul’s face was just too sadistically funny to completely pass up, so…maybe he could at least understand why Darren had said it. And anyway, he could have said worse, all things considered…
“Doesn’t feel any different to me.”
“Because you’re wearing them, I assume,” Darren said tartly.
“Well, yeah.”
“Have her screw you with one and then…”
“Darren!” Jayden admonished as the tailor came back in, caught the sentence, and coughed in an embarrassed sort of way.
“Ah, yes, ah, here are the, ah, items that you requested, Mr. Summerskill…”
‘The items’ were piles of soft grey cloth and some wrapped shirts that looked to be the loose-around-the-sleeves type.
"Lillian picked them out,” Ethan said, shoving one pile at Darren. “I even found a matching sling on Amazon in case you and your war wound decide to be a spaz.”
“I haven’t worn a sling in years,” Darren said, rolling his eyes, but took the bundle and was shown into a changing cubicle by the embarrassed tailor. Jayden hovered for a minute, then settled on a chair in the corner to wait as Paul disappeared into the neighbouring slot.
“Are you not part of the wedding party?” the tailor asked.
“Oh, um, no, not really,” Jayden said. “I mean, you know, Ethan’s a friend, but um, we’re not that close.” He began to chew on the edge of his thumbnail, worrying over Paul’s remark in the car. When had Darren tried to go off-road? His car wouldn’t be able to go off-road even if he wanted to, it was a second-hand Vauxhall previously wrecked by Scott with less-than-awesome suspension, and Darren wasn’t exactly the off-roading type. He thought nature was boring and ugly and preferred to stay inside ‘where the warm is.’
Jayden just…had a bad feeling.
Luckily for Jayden and his bad feelings, Darren stepped out first, hair messier than usual thanks to changing in a hurry, and transformed by a pale grey, slightly-too-large suit. The trousers were a little long in the leg, but cupped his arse perfec
tly, and the shirt was that almost-Edwardian style with baggy sleeves and a nearly blouse-like appearance.
“Bit gay, isn’t it?” was Darren’s ignorant opinion, and Jayden snorted.
“Bit gorgeous, actually,” he said and smiled, eyeing him from socks to curls. “That’ll look really good once they fit it properly.” The tie was a deep, royal blue—Jayden guessed he knew the colour scheme—and maybe a light green would have been better for Darren’s eyes, but it was still pretty good against the pale grey and white of the rest of it. He tidied up beautifully; he always had, but Jayden had…semi-forgotten. “No, that’s good.”
“I know you,” Darren said flatly. “What’s wrong with it?”
“A bit loose,” Jayden hummed, plucking at the shirt fabric between finger and thumb. “I don’t know. Maybe a waistcoat or something. Is there a suit jacket?”
“Yeah.”
“Well, put it on.”
The tailor chuckled over Jayden’s shoulder, and Darren rolled his eyes. “Why? I’m only going to wear the jacket in the church.”
“Just put it on.”
Darren disappeared briefly and came back out shrugging the jacket on awkwardly. His left shoulder had never relearned the smoothness of that motion, and Jayden hitched the fabric a little higher into place, humming.
“Mm,” he said. “No, it’s good. It looks good. You look good.”
“Watch it, frizzy,” Paul said, emerging from his own cubicle and grinning in an identically coloured tuxedo. “Check it out, ladies. Do I look hot or do I look hot?”
“Where’s the ‘you look like a twat’ option?” Darren asked and got cuffed around the head for his efforts. “Charming.”
“Shut your face. I’m like the second most important dude at this wedding.”
“After the usher.”
“After the groom, bell-end.”
The groom himself emerged in another pale grey tuxedo, and Jayden saw the real sense in the colour choice: with his fair hair and bright blue eyes, Ethan looked surprisingly stunning in the new get-up, and Darren pinched Jayden’s arm with a smirk. “Eyes,” he said. “Back in your head.”
“Oh, shut up,” Jayden muttered and huffed. “Well, I suppose it’s as close as you’re going to get for a good colour scheme for the three of you.” He couldn’t imagine three men with less similar colouring. Not unless Ethan had a pair of Chinese ushers on the sly or something.
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