Again

AIDAN: You know what, Cooper? You’re just a fucking coward. You’re scared someone might find out you ruined the marriage of sweet, trustworthy Noah Bailey — that he trusted you, and you were fucking his husband. What a nightmare, right? What if people don’t see you as the perfectly nice guy you try to be? AIDAN: Newsflash:no one is thinking about you. No one cares what Blake Cooper is doing with his dick. Caitlin just takes things too personally — the rest of the world? Couldn’t care less. What, your church group’s gonna vote you off the island? People’ll stop saying hi to you at Whole Foods? I’d survive that. I’m ready. I’d face every guest who was at my fucking wedding if they wanted to come tell me what a piece of shit I am. They won’t. But I could. I’d gladly spend an hour every night replying fuck off to comments from people saying I’m a slut. Because —no. Okay —yes,but not this time. This was different. Can’t you see that? Or are you scared to even look? AIDAN: Fuck other people. I’d do the real scary thing —talk to Noah. NOAH. The thought makes my heart stop. But I could. I would. You, though? You couldn’t even tell Caitlin the truth, you spineless shit. AIDAN: How the fuck could you do this to me? I trusted you almost more than Noah. Oh my god… We didn’t even use condoms. Fuck, I’m gonna throw up again just thinking about it. How many people were you with while you were with me?

BLAKE:

How many were you with?

AIDAN: No one. No one else.

BLAKE:

In L.A.?

Come on, Aidan.

I know you.

Cut the underplaying.

AIDAN: I’m serious. Okay, maybe a couple HJs, but that’s it. So you better start talking. This is important. I don’t want to catch HIV because you were too chill to care.

BLAKE:

Not any chiller than you.

If you’d said anything, even once,

I would’ve wrapped up.

But you didn’t.

You chose not to.

AIDAN: And I regret the hell out of it! Fuck, now I’m gonna throw up again — because I just remembered you came in me. Knowing I had to leave right after! Who does that?!

BLAKE:

Someone who was very loudly asked to?

Aidan, please.

Stop this,

or we’re gonna have a really hard time staying friends.

AIDAN: Oh. So you want us to stay friends, huh? After this? Then fucking answer the question.

BLAKE:

It was just you and Jeff.

AIDAN: Jeff? JEFF?! Okay, this isnota figure of speech anymore. I might actually have to throw up, then bleach my entire body, and maybe just peel off all my skin because even the idea of having anything in common with Jeff, even accidentally, makes me wanna claw my brain out. Congratulations, Cooper — you’ve done it. I won’t touch you. I won’t even look at you now.

BLAKE:

Okay.

AIDAN: “Okay?” That’s what you’ve got? How is this possible?! Have you seen me and Jeff in the same room? How does that compute? We’re not just in different leagues, we’re from different planets. If this has been going on since June, there’s no way you missed how repellent he is. He’s got, like, reverse magnetism. He walks into a room and my libido jumps out the window. You look at him and IMMEDIATELY — not after six months, immediately!— you think: “Nope. Not that desperate. Literally anything else sounds better than Jeff.” No sex for the rest of my life? Still better than Jeff. This is officially the most humiliating thing that has ever happened to me. It’s like finding out you got dumped for a week-old lettuce wrap. With tofu. Bland tofu. That’ll still give you food poisoning — because surprise! there’s mayo in it, and it’s been sitting in the sun for a week. You know what? No. You’re lying. You just want me to temporarily feel repulsed so I stop talking. This is some twisted form of reverse therapy. Fine. It worked. You can say it’s not true now.

BLAKE:

It’s true.

AIDAN: Hilarious. Ha. Ha. You could’ve at least come up with someone slightly more believable. Now say it’s not Jeff. Pick anyone else. You could even say you just got bored of me. That I could handle.

BLAKE:

It’s Jeff.

You’re gonna have to live with it.

AIDAN: I don’t have to do anything, actually. Because I never want to see you again.

BLAKE:

That’ll be hard.

But if that’s what’s better for you…

AIDAN: Are you out of your mind?! Why are you agreeing to that?! You’re really okay with it? Just like that? Because of Jeff?

BLAKE:

Because of you!

You said you didn’t want to see me.

AIDAN: I do. Of course I want to see you. Because it’s way harder to lie to my face, isn’t it?

BLAKE:

One last time:

I’m. Not. Lying.

Want me to set up a meeting?

AIDAN: Brilliant idea. I’m sure we’ll hit it off. Hell, maybe it’ll even end with a bang,why not? I’ll just need: five liters of Listerine, industrial-grade antibacterial spray, an air purifier, two layered condoms, and Viagra. Because alcohol’s not gonna cut it. …Blake? Why are you quiet? Blake? Babe. I can’t do this. We have to talk. I can’t just keep texting like this. It’s inhuman. When can we meet?

BLAKE:

Not now.

AIDAN: Why not?!

BLAKE:

I know what you’ll try to do.

AIDAN: Ugh, don’t flatter yourself.

BLAKE:

Aidan. Please.

Don’t do anything.

Don’t text. Definitely don’t call.

Take some time.

You’ll see it’s for the best.

When you’re calm, we can talk.

In public.

AIDAN: Am I really that disposable to you? Blake. Please. Fine. Public. Answer me. I know where you live. Are you hiding in there? Jesus, this is actually getting funny. You’ll have to come out eventually. You’ve got work, right? Wait— You didn’t even go to work?! That’s… honestly impressive. Are you afraid of me? I’m not going to do anything. To you or to Jeff. I’m fine now. See? Calm. I haven’t messaged in three days. Does that not say “calm” to you? Fine. A week. No texts. But you’re really not even going to wish me Merry Christmas? Wow. So you’re actually ghosting me through Christmas. Okay. Merry Christmas to you and Jeff.

***

Winter lasts six months in the Northeast. There’s no real compensation for it — just a few small, sneaky perks, like better insulation in the walls and, by extension, slightly better soundproofing. Which means, at the very least, you don’t have to whisper in your own apartment. But right now, even those not-particularly-loud rooms — home to two adults and one cat — were so silent, so airless, it felt like the entire space had been vacuum-sealed. Aidan came back from L.A. with a bruise blooming across his forehead, fury in his eyes — and, catching up to him at last, a court summons tied to the accident. He’d seriously considered ignoring it. But Noah saw the letter, and after a lot of grim looks and exhausted sighs, convinced him to find a lawyer and show up to the hearing. It was technically a hit-and-run. He was looking at a year in a California jail and a thousand-dollar fine. Even the bottom-shelf attorney he dug up managed to prove he hadn’t actually fled the scene — not in the legal sense. So Aidan got off with a fine. Came home. Stopped traveling. Stopped any going out. By early December, Aidan had voluntarily confined himself to two rooms of the apartment, orbiting in a storm of restless, misdirected energy that barely let him sleep, hold a conversation, or sit still long enough to finish a cup of coffee. He retouched the same photos — again and again — in five-minute bursts. Pinned new locations on his map. Texted someone. Scrubbed the shower. Cooked an absurd amount of food. Wrote more messages. Vacuumed the apartment for the third time that day. Scoured the grout in the bathroom. Brushed the cat. Typed and typed and typed. Polished the mirrors. Drank. Collapsed on the couch. Stared at the screen when Noah put a show on. Sometimes ate. Washed the windows, ignoring the snow blowing into his face. Looked down from the fourth floor. Jerked off if a dick ended up in his hand, not always sure if it was his or Noah’s. Sorted paperwork into a system that only made sense to him. Replied to his agent in one-word answers. Stared at his phone without touching it. Dove into photo archives from five years ago and deleted ninety percent of what he saw. Googled how much acetaminophen it would take to be sure. Cleared his browser history. Opened his mouth if he felt pressure on the back of his head. Brushed his teeth for the fifth time that day. Clutched a fork, staring at a too-small slice of bread that toasted but didn’t pop up. Stopped shaving. Decided to get the car washed. Stood next to it for ten minutes, then went back upstairs. Opened a paperback. Read the same paragraph over and over. Closed it. Washed the balcony floor while snow fell, watching the water freeze before it had the chance to dry. Felt sick with himself and sent another message anyway. Watching him every day, the changes weren’t obvious at first glance. But the Aidan of early December and the Aidan now — they weren’t the same person. The new version barely spoke, ignored all calls, and moved slower than ever — that frantic energy from before had drained away, tapering off until it disappeared completely, leaving behind a quiet body stretched on the couch, showing signs of life maybe three times a day. Even then, he wanted to stay invisible, flinching if Noah spoke to him, like he hadn’t realized his presence had been noticed — and didn’t know what to do about it now. At first, Noah had been relieved. Aidan was home. For real this time, maybe? But it didn’t take long to realize how wrong that all was. He might as well have still been two thousand miles away. They barely talked. In the beginning, Aidan would at least answer questions, even mumble a few words about what he’d done that day. But now? Nothing. If Noah asked how he was doing — once, twice — he might get a limp “fine” in return. More often, Aidan would just pretend to be asleep. Not convincingly, either. Just enough to say, I’m not talking. Don’t make me. The sex occured— and that’s really the only word for it — a couple of times. And left Noah deeply rattled. Aidan had faked disinterest before, sure. Rolled his eyes, complained. But eventually he’d always get into it, so much so that it was hard to believe he hadn’t wanted it in the first place. This time was different. He went through the motions just to get it over with. His face stayed blank. His body moved like it wasn’t even his. And then one night, not even that. Noah reached out — gently — and Aidan muttered, without opening his eyes: “You don’t have your own hands?” Noah froze. Pulled away. A beat. Then, dead flat: “Stop acting like I’m the only person on the planet.” Noah didn’t press for clarification. He waited two more days before asking another question — this time, trying to figure out why their group chat had been dead for three weeks, and why, in private, both Kate and Blake responded with: “Oh, everything’s fine! Just busy.” “Aidan…” he said cautiously. Hovering over someone who was flat on the couch felt wrong, so he sat down on the floor beside him. Ewan appeared moments later and climbed into his lap, sniffing Aidan’s face to confirm he was still alive — something not immediately obvious from a visual assessment. Aidan opened his eyes and pushed the cat away. Shoving a person off like that wasn’t an option, so he just asked: “What?” “When’s the last time you saw Katie? Or Cooper?” “Who?” he snapped, jaw clenched so tightly his teeth audibly ground together. Noah froze. It would’ve been easier not to ask anything else — to just wait for things to go back to normal. Aidan had never been predictable. Or stable, really. He’d sometimes spiral into sudden bursts of anger — shouting, swearing, sweeping things off the table — but even then, his rage usually fizzled out before the last sheet of paper hit the floor. He had his melancholy spells too, times he’d ask to be left alone… but within a few hours, he’d always come back and talk about it. This wasn’t like that. This was wrong. And if Noah was honest, he could think of only one possible cause. He gripped his knees and forced himself to speak. “Is it because of me? Did I do something?” Aidan groaned something under his breath and squeezed his eyes shut — but then suddenly turned toward Noah, his voice sharp. “Oh really? What did you do? Enlighten me! What imaginary sin did you commit, huh? I’m dying to hear what you think you’re capable of. Go on, Bailey — surprise me!” “I turned down your suggestion.” “What suggestion?” Aidan blinked, genuinely confused. “You wanted a… a threesome.” “When did I—” He stopped, blinked again. “Wait. Did I? Wow. Yeah. I probably could say something like that.” “So this isn’t about that?” “Oh, but it is,” Aidan snapped. “Because obviously I’m so emotionally underdeveloped that being toldnosends me into a downward spiral of repressed resentment and performative despair. Next stop: suicidal ideation! Makes total sense, right?” “Aidan…” “No, come on, let’s fix this! You want me to stop ruining the mood with my tragic little face, don’t you? Let’s go find some random guy and screw him together. That’ll bring us closer! Team-building through double penetration! You’re welcome.” “Are you being serious right now?” “Why? Don’t you want me to get better?” This clarified absolutely nothing. And while Noah had been plenty worried about his husband’s near-catatonic withdrawal, it scared him even more when, one evening, Aidan suddenly sprang to his feet, grabbed the car keys, and vanished. By the time he reached Cottage Grove, Aidan was hell-bent on not leaving without speaking to Blake. He was ready to pound on the door, break a window, wake the neighborhood with his yelling — the only thing he wasn’t ready for was what he found. In Wisconsin in general — and Madison in particular — people didn’t mess around when it came to fighting snow. It wasn’t taken lightly. You didn’t let it pile up at your door, linger on your roof, or lock down your road. (“Clearing snow from the streets is our top priority and is carried out in the shortest possible time,” declared Mayor Satya Rhodes-Conway. “My street’s always the last!” complained someone who had the misfortune of living far from any school, hospital, fire station, or police precinct.) Every time the plow went by your house, you were expected to rush outside with a shovel and dig yourself a path out. Wait until morning? Things would get harder. Leave the scraped-up blocks of slush and twelve fresh inches to freeze over for a day? You were doomed. You’d need a saw and a chisel. Or a trip to Home Depot for a gas-powered snowblower. Blake’s driveway was sealed off by a wall of snow. Aidan stepped out of the car on stiff legs. The snowbank came up to his waist. He kicked it. It was granite.

***

"It’s Saturday tomorrow,” Noah said quietly, still staring blankly ahead as he stirred the contents of a wok that had been off for a while now. “And?” Aidan called from the couch. “I did what you asked.” “What did I ask?” “Are you trying to make me lose my mind?” Mumbling something unintelligible, Aidan suddenly sat up so fast the room tilted for a second. “Bailey, don’t tell me you—oh God.” “Yeah.” “How the hell did you even do it? Craigslist?” “They got rid of that section ages ago. Who even remembers it? No—I reactivated my profile. Updated it.” “Huh.” “You weren’t asking questions, so I didn’t consult you.” “Strong tactic. You don’t even have to show me a photo—it’ll be a surprise.” “So… you still want to go through with it?” Noah turned toward him. “I wouldn’t say I want to. But it feels like I need to.” “That’s… a weird way to put it.” “Weird man, weird statements. Did you set anything up in advance?” “No. Should I have?” “I mean, I don’t know! You’re inviting a total stranger into our home—should we know something about him? Nah, of course not, that’s silly.” “He probably won’t agree to show his driver’s license.” “He could at least show a test result. And a dick pic.” “He already did.” “Fantastic,” Aidan said, not clarifying which part he meant. “And you?” “No.” “And he’s still willing to show up at some strangers’ place?” “Not all connections start with a dick pic.” “Right. Of course. So, you chatted? What are his hobbies?” “Improv theater and volunteering at the city park.” “Could’ve been worse. What time? Maybe I’ll even shower for the occasion.” “Eight.” “I’ll make it.” “You sleeping out here again?” “Obviously. Didn’t want to risk triggering my one functional erection before the guest arrives.—things have been a little… hit or miss lately.” “This is going to be a disaster.” “Oh, absolutely,” Aidan said, and for the first time in three weeks, something vaguely resembling a smile tugged at the corner of his mouth.

***

Aidan looked almost normal. If you ignored the cut on his chin. And the dark circles under his eyes. And the jeans, with the belt pulled two notches tighter than usual. And maybe also the fact that he was sitting at the table across from Noah, who kept tapping his fingers against the surface and glancing at the clock like he fully expected the world to end in the next thirty minutes — and wanted to be standing exactly where he said he would when it happened. “He’s late.” “Unforgivable, isn’t it? Wonder what other breaches of etiquette he’s bringing. Wouldn’t be surprised if we end up having to spank him for them,” Aidan said, completely flat. “You should’ve eaten.” “And you should’ve had a drink.” “I will.” “I won’t.” “Or maybe I’ll wait. What if he doesn’t drink?” “He spends his Saturday nights in group sex scenarios… then again, here I go stereotyping. He might very well be sober.” Aidan paused. “Wait—what’s his name again?” “Mark.” “I’m definitely going to call him Mike.” “He’s from Oshkosh.” “What, nobody closer? He’s driving almost a hundred miles.” “I didn’t want to risk someone local. Or someone who might know someone who knows me.” “Smart.” The buzzer rang. Noah went to let him in, murmuring, “You might want to come over here. Would be kind of rude not to.” “You’re right, what was I thinking? We wouldn’t want to seem inhospitable,” Aidan muttered, pushing himself to his feet and heading for the door too. He did consider, briefly, the possibility that this Mark guy — even coming from Oshkosh — might know him. The odds were microscopic, but not zero. The thought didn’t bother him in the slightest. The suspense didn’t last long. A moment later, the third participant stepped into view… and was a complete stranger. Mark was on the shorter side, stocky, tanned in a way that didn’t make sense for Wisconsin in December, armed with a six-and-a-half-inch dick and a very friendly smile. “Nice boots,” Aidan said after the introductions were done. “Yeah, they’re solid. Don’t leak, don’t freeze up too bad, and they don’t fall apart from the salt right away,” Mark replied, accepting the compliment like a Midwesterner and a man who’d clearly tested them in the field. “We take our shoes off in winter,” Noah added in an apologetic tone. “If that’s okay.” “Of course, of course. Your house, your rules.” Aidan glanced at Noah, silently checking if he was also awarding Mark a courtesy point for that. But his husband was looking away. “Drink?” Aidan asked. “I’m good with that.” “Perfect. You two drink. I won’t—if I pass out, I’ll ruin the whole thing.” They sat at the table. Aidan made a mental note that this felt like a rookie mistake — the atmosphere was way too businesslike. Then again, lounging on the couch where someone had spent the last three weeks barely moving? Also not ideal. The first two glasses went down in quiet conversation about blizzards, storms, heavy snowfalls, FIBs, and other local misfortunes. Property prices and gas costs made a brief appearance. Even without wine, Aidan felt himself starting to drift — something about the low, calm rhythm of the two voices was lulling him to sleep. When his eyes actually closed for a second, he snapped upright and blurted, way too loud: “Sorry to interrupt, I just need to ask: are we actually going to fuck, or not? And if yes — how much longer are we waiting?” Noah flinched. Mark smiled. “I’m good with that. What about you guys?” “Ready when you are,” Aidan announced. “Bursting with anticipation.” There were no visible signs of anticipation, but maybe he was just hiding them well. “I… yeah. Me too,” Noah said, after clearing his throat. Quorum achieved. “Well then,” Mark grinned, leaning back in his chair, easy and unbothered. “Walk me through your usual dynamic.” “Usual?” Noah echoed. “There is no usual,” Aidan clarified. “You’re our first. Be gentle.” “Oof, the pressure,” Mark laughed. “I’ll do my best not to disappoint.” He reached for his glass again. “So, let’s talk through the setup. If I understand correctly — you two are married?” They nodded. “Since when?” “July,” Noah answered. Mark raised his eyebrows, just slightly. “Uh… so, most of the time when I’m invited, it’s not really about the couple doing stuff with each other,” Mark said, a little hesitant. “But everyone’s different, so…” “No benchwarming for you,” Aidan cut in flatly. Noah covered his face with both hands. Mark glanced at him, concerned. “You okay?” “What? Yeah. Yeah, I’m fine. Go on.” “I mean, it’s all on my profile — the main boundaries, at least. A few little things too: I’d rather not kiss, I need a proper break between rounds and I won’t shorten it, and if someone takes off a condom without saying anything, I’ll call it assault.” “Fair enough,” Aidan nodded. “Mm-hm,” Noah offered, barely audible. After a brief apartment tour with all essential locations pointed out, they moved into the bedroom — and… no one exactly lunged into anything. Noah kept casting uncertain glances at his husband. Mark sat at the edge of the bed in just a towel — currently the most clothed person in the room — calm and unrushed. But the silence was definitely starting to press down on them. “I’m… not really performing tonight,” Aidan finally admitted, stating the obvious. “Want some help?” their guest offered politely. “Or do you want to handle it yourself?” “Oh, don’t be shy. Go ahead,” Aidan sighed, stepping toward him. Mark sank to his knees. After a couple of minutes of careful, almost clinical effort, he got down to business in earnest. “Incredible range of services,” Aidan muttered. “What was that — a testicular cancer screening?” “Among other things,” said their very responsible, very thorough guest, before calmly returning to his task. “Noah,” Aidan said—barely catching himself before he used his last name, because yes, apparently they were still pretending to be anonymous. Noah didn’t respond. He was standing stiffly a few feet away, gazing up at the ceiling like it had answers. “Hey. Maybe instead of contemplating the plasterwork, you could look at me?” No response. Just a vague, uncomfortable sound from Noah’s throat. “Look at me. Now.” It came out sharp — a command, not a plea. Noah turned his head, slow and painful, like the motion required lifting a wrecked engine off his shoulders. But even then, his eyes didn’t dip below Aidan’s chin. Aidan’s face was tight with anger, frustration, exhaustion — everything except pleasure. He grabbed Noah’s wrist and yanked him closer. “No. You’re going to be part of this,” he growled, and crushed his mouth against Noah’s with enough pressure to hurt. “Maybe I should… focus on both of you?” Mark offered gently. “It’s less efficient, but probably more equitable.” “Yes. Please,” Aidan answered for both of them, cupping Noah’s face with both hands and holding him in place, making sure he couldn’t speak, couldn’t flinch, couldn’t leave.To his horror, Noah felt his body respond. Arousal rising in him like steam under a closed lid — separate from thought, from will, from any kind of conscious choice. It wasn’t his. It didn’t feel like him. He could almost see himself from above — the way you might float out of your own body mid-nightmare. Watching, helpless. Unable to move forward. Unable to look away. “Come on,” Aidan whispered into his ear. “Admit it — it’s not that bad. How long did you wait for me to finally let you in? Tohave me? Well, here it is. This is it. You can do whatever you want to me. Both of you. Anything you want.” “That’s… not how this works,” Mark tried again, gently. “Don’t interrupt,” Aidan snapped. “Oh—dirty talk? Sorry, I didn’t catch that right away.” “Aid, listen—” Noah started. “No. I’m not listening to anything. And you’re not going to say anything unnecessary. Lie down. Now.” He patted Mark on the shoulder without looking. “Thanks, that’s enough. Take a break. We’ve got it from here.” Noah barely had time to lie back before Aidan dropped onto him, swallowing him whole in one rough, brutal motion. The silence that followed was cold and loaded — broken only by the sound of ragged breathing. “Uhhh…” Mark started to speak, but Aidan raised a trembling hand without looking at him. He fell quiet. Eyes locked on Noah’s wide, shocked ones, Aidan rose and sank again. “How’s that? Huh? Feel good?” he asked through clenched teeth. “Ama-zing. You wanted this, didn’t you?” “That’s it. I’m out,” Mark said sharply, face pale. “This is not what I signed up for.” He grabbed his clothes and was nearly out the door before the sentence finished. At the same moment, as if snapping out of a trance, Noah shoved Aidan off. Aidan crumpled instantly, curling in on himself, biting the edge of a pillow. Noah threw a blanket over him, yanked the nearest towel around his own waist, and ran after the man who’d just fled. Mark was getting dressed at impressive speed, glancing around like he’d lost his phone. “I’m sorry. I didn’t know it would be like that. I don’t know what got into him—” Bailey started, but Mark cut him off: “I’m fine. He’s not. He probably needs Advil. And ice. And maybe a psychiatrist. If I were you, I wouldn’t leave him alone.” He was already shoving his feet into his boots, not bothering to tie the laces or zip up his jacket. “I’m not mad. But let’s never speak again. Take care.” And with that, Mark disappeared out the door. Noah returned to the bedroom, sat down on the edge of the bed, and reached out to touch Aidan’s shaking shoulder — but it jerked away and vanished under the blanket along with the rest of him. From under the covers came a muffled, ragged cry: “Don’t touch me! Don’t—just don’t. Just leave.” So Noah did. He sat in the living room for an hour, frozen in place until every joint in his body started to ache — and still, he had no idea what to do. Finally, he picked up his phone and texted Caitlin: I really need you.

I can’t right now.

It’s Aidan. It’s bad. Really, really bad. Worse than I’ve ever seen him. Please come. Her reply came almost instantly.

Okay. Fifteen minutes.