Page 43 of Dream a Little Dream

“Yeah.” Aaron didn’t ask Tom why he hadn’t come to anyone’s aid a moment ago.

“Said some shit to Rahul on Monday.”

“What did he say?”

“Pretty much what he said to you.”

Aaron assumed Rahul might not have handled it in the same way he had, though.

“Ain’t seen him since then.” He nudged his chin at Rahul’s door. “Might have gone home.”

Aaron nodded, then went into his own room and, as the door slammed, he grabbed a tea towel from the university’s welcomepack and wrapped it around his bleeding fingers, collapsing on his single bed.

After settling his pulse, he launched up, opened his door and bolted out of his flat, out the residential building, over the grass mound separating his block to the next where, beneath an archway, sat the duty office. A queue ran from the desk to the door and outside, students all waiting to tell the officers in charge that their lights didn’t work, or they didn’t have the right change for the washing machines, or whatever other first world problems inconvenienced their stay on campus.

Aaron snaked around them all to the front.

“There’s a line.” The woman behind the desk peered up over her glasses. “Wait your turn.”

“I need access to room five, flat two, Chepstow Hall.”

“You need to wait at the back of the queue.”

“Ain’t got fucking time for this.” Aaron punched his fist on her desk.

“Raising your tone with me won’t get you anywhere. Did your mother not teach you any manners?”

Always with the mother.

“You might find out what my mother taught me if you don’t give me access to room five, flat two, Chepstow Hallnow.”

Linda picked up a phone. “I’m calling security.”

“Perfect. Thank you.” Aaron put his hands together in prayer. “While you’re ratting me out, getting me another ten weeks in welfare, tell them Rahul…” he paused, realising he didn’t know his second name. He was doing all this over a bloke he’d spoken to twice. He really was projecting all his pent up shit. “From room five, flat two, Chepstow Hall hasn’t been seen for a week. Engineering, year one. I’ll be outside.” He pointed to the door. “Waiting for my Good Citizen badge, which you can sew onto my fuckingforeskin.”

Aaron marched off, bounding through the queue of students, and didn’t bother going back to his room. He was too antsy. Riled up. So he went where he always did when he felt himself tipping over into his dark side.

Dancing.

* * * *

The Student Union bar was a sticky floored, black walled, grotty, dingy, torn fabric boothed, shit music sort of place, but it was closer and cheaper than jumping the two-hour train ride to London to get his fix from Inferno. He’d texted Mel to let her know he was on his way, and she waved at him from the bar where she stood with Lottie. She pointed over the horde at the bar, a silent ask if he wanted a drink. He shook his head. He didn’t need a drink to get out of his head. What he needed was beats, rhythm,music. So he made his way down the three steps to the dancefloor.

The music was of the pop variety. Taylor Swift. Lady Gaga. Usher. Whoever was the flavour of the month. Not Aaron’s first choice, nor were the clientele mingling with their plastic cups of beer onhisfloor, but it provided enough for Aaron to stop thinking about things he couldn’t change. Stop fixating on Dr Kenneth Lyons. And so he danced, tracks merging to the next, drenched in sweat and other people’s drink, until someone spooned up behind him.

Aaron let whomever it was to continue for a while. Sometimes, human contact was human contact. He might have even leant into them, lolling his head back onto a hard shoulder, allowing the hand on his hip to drift up into his T-shirt and cop a feel of his sweaty, sticky skin. He could even feel a hardness growing against his arse, none of it rousing. Not as rousing as deep, dark eyes staring at him across a bar while sipping on neat whisky.

“You’re a fucking treat,” the bloke spoon-grinding with him said into his ear.

Northern accent. Lancashire. Preston, probably.

Aaron twisted around. Taylor. The bloke from the LGBTQ+ society. Looking pretty good with his jeans and a V-neck, textured and highlighted hair, gradient shaving along the sides, and blue eyes looking at him as if he wanted to eat him.

Nothing new there.

What was new was whether Aaron would let him.

“You smoke?” Aaron called over the music.

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