Fic; 'Save Me (From Myself)', X Factor 2010 RPS; Aiden/Matt; [1/2]
Title: Save Me (From Myself)
Fandom: X Factor 2010 RPS
Pairing: Aiden Grimshaw/Matt Cardle, implied OD OT5/assorted OD pairings including Louis Tomlinson/Liam Payne
Rating: PG-13ish
Summary: AU where Aiden is a huge popstar in the UK, manufactured by Simon Cowell to corner the ‘quirky’ market. Fellow stars include Cher Lloyd and One Direction (‘the UK’s answer to the Jonas Brothers’). He’s dissatisfied with his fake!unique!image, and then he meets Matt, who is part of a talented but unsigned band, and is inspired.
Word Count: 12,883
Disclaimer: This didn’t happen obviously.
A/N: O. M. G. I’ve been working on this monster for weeks, and I’ve finally got it to a stage where I sort of think it’s something more than a hot mess, so... I’m posting it before I change my mind. I’m a slow writer, so this is pretty massive for me. Also, as far as the story goes: Aiden is assumed to be bisexual, even though it’s not explicitly stated. Rebecca is actually Matt’s age, and therefore her kids are older too. And finally, I’ve written this in between reading all the amazing fics from various comms, so it’s inevitably absorbed bits of fanon from everywhere. No plagiarism intended at all. ♥
EDIT: There's now an additional two scenes (which is linked in this post at the appropriate place) that I somehow forgot to put in originally. So, um, if you're interested, the link's near the bottom of this post, or alternatively, here. :D /fail
“He’s not about the fame, he’s all about the music and it was refreshing to meet someone like that.”
~ Aiden on Matt; OK! Magazine interview, November 30th 2010
Aiden is still a little overwhelmed by it all and that’s probably why he throws up. He’s backstage at the O2 arena, with an assistant yelling instructions in his face, but he can’t hear her over the crowd. He’s got an entirely too gaudy microphone pressed between his fingers and his head is already throbbing, and then the back of his throat constricts and he just manages to get to the toilet in time. As he gags the assistant barely breaks her stride.
“- And right after the guitar solo in Save Me you’re to leave the stage for a costume change. The one with the Clockwork Orange eye, okay? And the coattails, but we’ll worry about all of that, you just focus on getting your timing right -”
“Cathy,” Aiden croaks when she pauses for breath. “Your devotion to your job is admirable.”
Cathy narrows her eyes at him. “Is that your smart-arse way of telling me I’m being insensitive? Because loads of pop stars spend their last few minutes before a show puking their lungs up. You’re not a special snowflake, even if that’s the basis of your appeal.”
Aiden feels he should be offended, but his stomach does another uncomfortable flip and he’s forced to duck his head down again.
Cathy claps him on the back when he comes up for air. “Go get ‘em, tiger. You’re on in five. Here.” She tucks a Listerine PocketPak into his hand. “Don’t want the front row to faint when you start singing.”
She leaves. Aiden sits still for another moment, staring glumly at the porcelain water tank. With a sigh he drags himself to his feet and yanks the chain to flush. He pops out three breath strips and wonders what his life has become.
--
Twelve months ago, Aiden’s life was normal. He was halfway through his A levels. He lived at home with his parents, had a job at McDonald’s. He’d had the same girlfriend since he was fifteen. He had a group of mates and got drunk on the weekends, smoked more than he probably should. When he was alone in his room he would strum his guitar and sing to himself, and dream about being able to do that for a living. He wrote some of his own songs. He assumed he was going to go to University and get a normal job, and maybe gig on weekends, if he was lucky.
--
In hindsight, Aiden blames Nicolo. It was a gloomy day in August, and he’d been finger picking his way through a David Gray song when his mobile had buzzed. He plucked it off the duvet and read: i’ve booked you in at my uncle’s place for a gig tonight. FYD are down a member. Your train leaves in twenty minutes. If it had been anybody but Nicolo he would have been surprised, but as it was, he barely blinked, because Nicolo is a crazy bastard. Aiden had met Nicolo’s uncle, he ran a swanky Italian club that Aiden would never be able to get into if he didn’t have an inside connection. The club was a bit intimidating, and Aiden half-believes Nicolo’s family are in the mafia or something, because that would explain a lot really. He texted back: ok, meet you there and headed out.
Aiden had gigged with FYD before. They’re an indie-boy band and can dance much better than him, and they’re all a bit older and cooler and it’s good fun. He nibbled his thumbnail as he watched the houses blur past the train window. He loved the rush of performing, the intimate feeling of singing in clubs and pubs. But he was always scared shitless beforehand so he didn’t gig too often. Nicolo was the main catalyst the times that he did. Nicolo didn’t take ‘no’ for an answer. He also had an irritating habit of forgetting English if Aiden argued. Aiden didn’t even try to fight it anymore.
He was willing to start again, though, when he turned up at the club only to be told that, no, FYD weren’t there, they’d mysteriously all come down with the flu and Aiden was on his own.
“I’m actually going to kill you,” Aiden told Nicolo.
Nicolo looked supremely unconcerned. “Darling, stop trying to break the mic. There’s only a couple hundred people here tonight; no pressure.”
“Only,” Aiden squawked in an extremely undignified way, but he was being hustled off to the stage and Nicolo pushed his sunglasses up his nose with an air of awful finality. Aiden decided he needed a best friend who wasn’t trying to give him a heart attack, and made a mental note.
The rest of the night passed in a bit of a blur. Aiden sang his usual selection of covers, and he was nervous as fuck and, like normal, his nerves only started to fizzle out when he was finished. He was applauded generously and let Nicolo whisk him off to the bar. When he glanced at the crowd there was a table of lofty important looking people that he hadn’t noticed before. He wanted to ask somebody who they were, but forced himself not to, because he was done and now he could relax.
Before Aiden left, significantly less sober and more dishevelled than a few hours previous, a man in an expensive looking suit accosted him. He told Aiden his name was Simon Cowell, that he’d liked Aiden’s voice and his look, and gave him an embossed business card that smelled like cologne. “Give my people a call,” Simon had said, “I think there’s a niche for you. We’ll have a chat.” Aiden had stood there gaping as Simon swept off with his entourage.
Drunk and dazed, Aiden had gotten on the train and was halfway home before he realized he hadn’t said goodbye to Nicolo. When he pulled out his mobile, there was a text waiting.
You are going to call him tomorrow I assume.
Aiden dumbly keyed in a response: did you plan this?
Unfortunately no. But you can give me the credit when you’re famous.
I don’t know what’s going on was all Aiden could reply.
Neither do I. I think I’ve got a male stripper passed out on my lap.
Aiden stared at the screen. Maybe he was more drunk that he’d thought. Where the fuck are you he texted back.
Got bored a couple of hours ago. Not quite sure which club I’m in. :)
“New friends,” Aiden muttered to himself, switching off his phone. “I need them.”
--
It had taken a little less than three months for Aiden’s single to be released. It had been written before he was even signed, and apparently Simon had been scouting for an artist to fit the music specifically. It was called Save Me, it was just a shade off being about a personality disorder, and Aiden suspected it would bomb. He kept these thoughts to himself. He was still completely agog at the attention and didn’t want to offend anybody. To his surprise it rose to number two in the charts in five days, and suddenly he couldn’t leave his house without getting mobbed.
When he met with Simon after hitting number one - and staying there for three weeks in a row - the man was looking very smug.
“You target a very specific market,” he told Aiden matter-of-factly. “I knew something like this would be a hit. It’s quirky, it’s different. Just what the market needs right now.”
Simon also told him that he’d tried to market a similar quirky image to the public unsuccessfully. “We tried with a girl called Katie,” Simon said, his voice sour. “Katie Waissel. You won’t have heard of her, hence you being here.”
While Aiden was grateful and overwhelmed, a part of him wanted to protest. Because no matter how ‘quirky’ the single and his image were, they weren’t really him.
“It’s like they took me, and added a metric fuckton of issues,” he told Nicolo over vodka shots one night. “Do the general public really want angst?”
“Look around,” Nicolo said unsympathetically. “Everybody has issues. They want something relatable, but worse than them so they feel better by comparison. And stop complaining you’re making my hair frizz from stress.”
--
After the concert is over, Aiden stumbles to the One Direction dressing room, the last of the adrenaline shivering out of his system. He’d performed first and last, with One Direction and Cher in the middle. When he opens the door he’s greeted with applause from the boys, who are now all in sweats and squashed onto a narrow couch.
“It’s the man of the hour!” Louis shouts, wriggling out from between Harry and Zayn to thump Aiden on the back. “Well done, mate, you were brilliantly creepy as ever.”
“Thanks, I think,” Aiden says, but accepts Louis’ bear hug because it’s easier than arguing. It’s also nice, and he buries his face in Louis’ shoulder, which smells like Harry’s deodorant.
“You were great,” Niall says. “Extra special, especially in Save Me, I’m going to have nightmares.”
“But they’ll be nightmares of love,” Louis assures Aiden, whose face must have visibly fallen. “Love-induced nightmares, Aidey. You inspire loving fear.”
“I’d rather just inspire love,” Aiden mumbles, and wow he really needs a smoke. Instead he drags a chair over and slumps in it, letting Louis prop his feet on his knees.
“That’s our job,” Harry says. He’s finger-combing Niall’s hair, and Aiden isn’t even remotely weirded out by this anymore. They’re all obviously married to each other on the astral plane. He doesn’t know if they’ve worked it out for themselves and it’s gotten physical yet, but then again he doesn’t really want to.
“Yeah, we inspire love and puppies,” Louis agrees. “And sometimes bodily functions. But our fanmail is screened now so we don’t have to worry about that anymore.”
“Maybe you should join One Direction!” Niall suggests like this is a new concept that Louis hasn’t already campaigned for. “You could be our quirky, potentially psychotic member. The closest we’ve got is Zayn.”
Zayn smiles lazily, and Aiden is vaguely worried.
“The one to watch is Liam,” Louis says seriously. “It’s always the quiet ones. Look at him, reading a book that had to be translated into English.” He kicks at Liam’s ankle.
Liam is reading Perfume by Patrick Süskind with a deeply introspective expression on his face. He ignores Louis and turns a page.
“You do realize,” Aiden says, “that reading increasingly obscure literature holds no social currency. Whatsoever.”
Liam just shrugs. “I’m in a boy band. My social currency balance is fine.”
“It’s a good thing too,” Louis chimes in. “Can you imagine if he didn’t have us? He’d have zero appeal. Zero. He’s only cool by association.” He squints at Liam critically. “The Bieber cut might help though.”
Liam looks put upon. “Just because you don’t read, Louis, doesn’t mean I shouldn’t. And you’d actually like this book. There are orgies.”
“I saw the movie,” Louis says happily. Liam gives him an affronted glance.
“Blasphemer.”
“How are you in a boy band,” Aiden marvels, and then, “you’re reading a book with orgies in it? Where did you come from?”
“Are we questioning Liam’s origins again?” Zayn asks with a yawn. “I maintain the stork dropped him on his head en route.”
Liam goes back to ignoring them. Aiden scrubs his face with the sleeve of his blazer, smearing makeup he’d forgotten he was wearing. Louis’ critical gaze has moved from Liam to him now, and he closes one eye and taps his chin like Aiden’s a puzzle he wants to solve.
“You’re freaking me out,” Aiden says. “Stop.”
“You’ve been extra miserable lately.” Louis snaps his fingers like he’s finally got something. “You need to get laid.”
Aiden groans into his hands.
“Seriously,” Louis says. “When was the last time you got any action? Fame and fortune must be cramping your style.” He pauses. “What is your style? I can’t imagine you actually having sex. You’re too odd and endearing to have sex.”
Aiden glowers from between his fingers. “Thank you, Lou. That’s really helpful.”
Niall perks up, looking far too interested. “You’ve tried imagining Aiden having sex?” he asks Louis.
“Well, of course, that’s normal isn’t it -”
“No,” Aiden says. “It’s really not.”
Niall is now studying Aiden and it’s getting disconcerting. “You’re right. I can’t picture it.”
“I hate you all,” Aiden says. “Except maybe Liam.”
Liam salutes him absently from behind his book.
“Well he can’t be lonely,” Harry points out. “He’s got us. He can’t possibly be lonely. A little excluded maybe, since he’s got his own dressing room, but I think most of his stuff is in here anyway.”
Louis nods. “You’re right. A third of the hair products in here exist for the sole purpose of facilitating his quiff. And the rest is Zayn’s.”
“I am right here,” Aiden says as Zayn glares at Louis. “I can hear you discussing me. And don’t include me in your weird co-dependent relationship; I want no part of it.”
“Denial,” Harry says.
“Lies,” Niall says.
Aiden gives up.
--
Aiden still isn’t sure who dumped whom. He knew that things had been forced between him and Lara for a while, and his sudden fame just made everything worse. She was working on her TV programme and now they both had conflicting schedules. It was Lara who first broached the topic, after asking to meet up, because she was too decent to do it over the phone. And Aiden thinks that things wouldn’t have worked out anyway, because he wasn’t upset after. They’d hugged and agreed to spend some time apart. He calls her now and again, and she sends him congratulatory texts when he does interviews and things, and it’s better this way. He doesn’t really miss their relationship. But he misses that feeling, the feeling he’d grown so used to, of being loved so casually and having somebody to turn to, whenever, wherever.
“That’s because you’re secretly a fourteen year old girl,” Louis tells him one night after a few too many drinks and confessions. Aiden thinks Louis has no right to comment, seeing as he’s spent the last week sulking over Zayn and Liam rooming together.
--
Aiden gets a text at five in the afternoon. It’s from Treyc, his best pre-fame friend besides Nicolo, who lives in London. You’re coming out with me tonight. Great local gig, you’ll love it. xox
Aiden is about to beg illness and decline, but then Louis sticks his head round the door and announces it’s karaoke in the One Direction room that night, and Aiden has to be there.
“Sorry mate,” Aiden tells him, in his best mournful tone. “I’ve already told Treyc I’ll go to a gig with her tonight.”
Louis pouts becomingly. “Aww, Aidey, you break my heart.”
“I’m sure you’ll survive.” Aiden texts back a confirmation. Then he wonders what he’s going to wear as a disguise.
He ends up in a woolly hat and a hoody, with too many scarves and Topman glasses. He is tempted to wear sunglasses for added safety instead, but he refuses to actively copy Nicolo, and really, he’ll just look like a twat. So with his hat pulled low and his head bowed, he goes to meet Treyc.
She catches him outside her flat. “Long time no see!” she says, and crushes him in a hug. “Where have you been, boy?”
Aiden is momentarily transported back to his sixteenth birthday. Lara was out of town and he’d been moping. In an effort to cheer him up Treyc and Nicolo took him out and they spent the evening on a swingset with too many bottles of WKD, telling filthy jokes. They’d stayed out until four, and he remembers falling into bed happy. Now, he smells Treyc’s perfume and his eyes sting a bit - from the cold, of course - and he says, “I have no idea.”
Treyc side-eyes him and just grins, like she gets it, and she probably does. Instead of saying anything she just bumps his shoulder. “C’mon. Their set is supposed to start at eight. The pub’s only a few minutes from here. You’ll love it.”
Much to his surprise, Aiden does. It has a cosy feel to it that he instantly takes to. There’s artfully exposed brickwork and a really nicely polished bar, and the girl staffing it waves to Treyc familiarly as they walk in. There are tables and chairs in front of the makeshift stage, which is nothing more than a niche between a couple of amplifiers, and there’s already a small crowd waiting for the band to show up. Treyc pushes Aiden into a seat and goes to fetch them both beers.
Aiden instinctively ducks his head when people glance at him curiously. He’s half-buried in his hoody anyway, and the lighting is dodgy. Nobody seems to notice anything and when Treyc returns he is able to nurse his drink and relax.
“You’ll love these guys,” Treyc tells him. “When they’re finally here. They’re always a bit late. They probably think it’s fashionable or something.”
“Did you say they were local?” Aiden asks.
“Originally from Essex I think. But they all live in London now. I can’t believe they’re not signed. They’ve got an album out but they self-financed, and it cost a small fortune apparently.” Treyc settles back in her chair and sips her beer. “They’re just so bloody talented. And the lead singer’s hot.”
Aiden shoots her a look. “I knew you had ulterior motives.”
Treyc grins. “Not for me, baby. For you. They’re just what you need to get your mojo back. They’ll snap you right out of your funk.”
“I’m not in a funk,” Aiden protests sullenly.
“Honey, I’ve been texting Nicolo too. He says you’ve not been this down for ages. And if it’s bad enough that Nicolo noticed, I figured an intervention was in order.”
“I’m not a mental case, you know,” Aiden mutters but Treyc shushes him then because four very hassled looking men have materialised by the amps. One unloads an acoustic guitar, another tries to fit microphone wires together in the half-light.
Aiden doesn’t have high expectations but he watches them from beneath his eyelashes anyway. It’s impossible to make out much more than silhouettes at first, and there’s lots of checked shirts that look upsettingly like flannel, and one guy has a beat up old cap twisted askew on his head. They tramp about in heavy boots and swear good-naturedly at one another and nearby patrons as they try to assemble all their instruments.
When they’re finally ready, Aiden is on his second beer and is feeling a lot calmer. Treyc is happily humming beside him. With no pretext whatsoever the guy in the hat taps the mic, strums the first chord of a song, and they’re off. Aiden blinks, trying to figure out if they actually started abruptly or if he’s already buzzed. The guy in the hat is crooning, and it’s really soothing, and Aiden thinks that Treyc might be right about at least one thing. They should be signed.
By halfway through their set, Aiden can’t keep his eyes off the guy in the hat. He hits impressively high notes effortlessly, and sings with such emotion that Aiden can’t help but feel. It’s been ages since he’s listened to something so raw and after the bubblegum pop he’s around all day it’s like a breath of fresh air.
“They are so good,” Aiden breathes to Treyc when it’s over. She just gives him a smug look and nods.
“Told you. Matt’s fantastic.”
“Matt?” Aiden asks.
“The lead singer. The one you couldn’t keep your eyes off all night.” Treyc wiggles her eyebrows at him. “Don’t front, boy, I know you think he’s gorgeous. You should go talk to him.”
Aiden looks at her incredulously. “Are you serious? What if he recognizes me?”
“Then you’ll definitely pull, won’t you?” Treyc is glancing appreciatively at the bassist, who is not-so-subtly making eyes at her. “You’re almost nineteen. Act your age.”
“From anyone else, that would mean be mature,” Aiden says.
“It’s your life, Aiden. I just wanted to break you out of your little bubble of mass-produced tweeny-pop for a night.”
Aiden’s known Treyc long enough to realize she is genuinely concerned for him, and he leans across the table to squeeze her hand. “Thanks.” He offers her a quick smile. “Really. I did need this.”
Treyc’s eyes soften. “You’re welcome.” Then she drains her glass and her smile turns predatory. “Well if you’re not going to work it, I’ll just have to pick up the slack.”
Aiden looks at the bassist. “Poor guy. Go easy on him, he looks fragile.”
“I always go easy.” Treyc gets up, grins with all her teeth and pats Aiden on the arm. “I’ll see you later, yeah? Don’t drop off the face of the earth again.”
“Good luck,” Aiden tells her as she struts off. He feels a momentary pang of sympathy for the unsuspecting bassist.
Matt is packing his guitar away, and his face is animated as he talks to one of his bandmates. Aiden fiddles with his scarf tassels and wishes, not for the first time, that he was somebody else, somebody cooler and more confident and low-profile.
His phone buzzes, distracting him from his increasingly bitter thoughts. It’s from Louis. Is your gig over. We’re bored with karaoke. Niall keeps suggesting spin the bottle. xxx
Aiden rolls his eyes. “Boyfriends,” he mutters to himself. He glances up. Matt circles around the amps and finishes his work, then goes to the bar and gets himself a beer. He seems to be charming the bartender effortlessly and they’re both laughing. Matt leans in to say something flirtatiously and the girl grins and blushes. Aiden gets up and shuffles out. At the door, he looks back to see Matt standing casually against the bar, beer dangling from his fingers as he surveys the room. His eyes rest briefly on Aiden, and Matt’s head tilts to the side like he’s thinking of something, but then Aiden pushes the door open and escapes into the early snowfall.
--
“So,” Louis says as he slides down the radiator next to Aiden. They’re sitting in a corridor in the Monell building. Monell is the branch of SyCo that deals with Simon’s pop acts. Aiden still finds Simon’s penchant for mashups of his own name bizarre. “I hear you’ve been on the prowl.”
Aiden doesn’t look up from his magazine. “What are you even talking about?”
“Treyc’s friends with Paije you know. It’s a small world.”
“And the relevance of that?”
“Paije is Cher’s bestie from like forever ago. And aside from being some sort of weird straight fashionista which I didn’t think was allowed, he’s pretty awesome, and I was talking to him the other day -”
Aiden puts down his magazine to give Louis his full attention, because when Louis gets going there’s no stopping him.
“- And he said that Treyc said that you saw a hot guy!” Louis finishes in a rush. He’s grinning widely and bouncing up and down. “How could you not tell us?”
Aiden allows himself a moment to contemplate how ridiculous Louis is, and how much more ridiculous his life is because Louis is in it. “There’s nothing to tell,” he says finally. “She’s totally blowing it out of proportion.”
“Aidey this is you we’re talking about. There is no proportion. This is like the first piece of data on the graph here.”
“I had a girlfriend for three years,” Aiden reminds him. “Really. She’s not a figment of my imagination either.”
“Yeah but she was lovely and charming and nice,” Louis says waving his hand. “Ergo she doesn’t count. I’m talking hook-ups. Randomly sleeping with fans. Cruising. Fun stuff.”
Aiden facepalms because that’s really the only appropriate reaction to Louis sometimes. “You’ve never done any of that.”
“Exactly! You’re depriving me of the right to live vicariously through you!”
Aiden is spared answering by the rest of One Direction emerging from Simon’s office. Louis apparently left halfway through their meeting just to annoy Aiden, and Aiden wonders if Simon would put up with that sort of thing if the band weren’t making him so much money.
“You missed the talk about the new album,” Liam tells Louis. Liam’s role seemed to be alternately reading strange books and mothering the rest of the boys. “We’ll have to fill you in.” He looks disapproving, and Louis springs up to smother him in a hug. When they pull back, Liam looks mollified and Louis a little smug. Aiden decides he still doesn’t want to know.
“What’s this about a hot guy?” Harry asks. “Louis was telling us all about it over breakfast.”
“There is no hot guy!” Aiden struggles to his feet. “I went to a gig with Treyc and the band was really good. The lead singer was - okay, he was pretty hot, but that was it. I didn’t even speak to him.”
“That’s it?” Zayn looks at Louis accusingly. “Louis made it sound like an epic tale of grand romance.”
“Louis would,” Aiden says bitchily. “He’s delusional.”
“Mr Hot Guy is in a band,” Louis says, ignoring Aiden. “And apparently they’re really good.”
“You like guys in bands?” Niall asks. “Why didn’t you go for one of us?”
Aiden keeps forgetting that Niall obviously has no brain-to-mouth filter at all. “Because I feel like I’m related to you. Plus I wouldn’t want to be a, um, sixth wheel.”
“We don’t play instruments,” Louis explains like Aiden had never spoken. Niall nods like everything makes sense again.
“Ah.”
“The point is,” Aiden cuts in pre-emptively. “There was no dirty hook up. I don’t have any kiss-and-tell stories.”
All five boys look unreasonably disappointed. Aiden wonders if it’s healthy that they are all so invested in each others’ love lives.
--
Over the next two weeks, Aiden finds himself downloading the Seven Summers album and trawling their website in his free time. He stops himself from being too obvious and manages to get away with it.
Not for long, though. “You’re got a stalkery crush,” Louis tells him one afternoon. “Just admit it. You spend hours staring at Matt’s face online.”
“I do not,” Aiden mumbles into his scarf, because he totally does.
“Aiden, let me enlighten you. You’re the famous pop star. People should be stalking you and wanking to pictures of you in flannel, not the other way around.”
Aiden chokes on his Red Bull. “I do not wank to pictures of Matt!”
Louis just strokes his chin. “Methinks Aidey doth protest too much.”
“You’re ridiculous!” Aiden sputters. He has to listen to Louis’ knowing laugh as he leaves.
“Louis is delusional,” he tells Liam later on. They’re sitting in Aiden’s dressing room playing cards. Aiden is grateful for Liam in times like this. Talking to him is almost like talking to a normal person.
Liam looks long-suffering and reshuffles his hand. “I know. But he’s also kind of right.”
Aiden is outraged. “You’re siding with him on this?”
“It’s not about sides. You’re obviously smitten with this guy. You’re not great at subtlety.”
Aiden fumes. “Fine, side with your boyfriends. I thought you were the sensible one.”
Liam turns pink. “You should go to one of his gigs,” he says, pointedly ignoring Aiden. “Try and talk to him. He might surprise you.”
Aiden doesn’t tell him that he’s already got tickets. Because then Liam would really rub it in his face.
--
Aiden tells himself that he’s not insane. It’s not like he just saw Matt and was blown away, because he wasn’t. Sure Matt is easy on the eyes. And his voice is a dream, makes Aiden want to pick up a guitar and sing along or just sit there with his eyes closed and bask in it. But it’s more than that, and that’s what scares Aiden. His interest had been piqued and he’d watched some interviews and things online, and it just went downhill.
Because Matt is amazing. He’s warm and friendly, never failing to be polite and charming, makes silly jokes and has this weird habit of scratching his neck that Aiden is altogether too fond of. He calls people silly things like ‘sweetheart’ and ‘darling’, and always seems to look sleepily contented. Aiden starts noticing plaid shirts and caps in shops, and craving Marlboros, and this can’t be healthy.
Aiden can’t work out whether he is furious with Treyc, or wants to buy her flowers. It’s the happiest he’s been in months. He wonders what that says about him.
--
Sneaking out unnoticed is more difficult than Aiden anticipated. He somehow manages to get out of his flat and past his security, and catches a taxi to the pub where Seven Summers is gigging. He’s got a balaclava on even though the snow’s melted, and he gets a few enquiring looks, but nobody says anything.
He tucks himself away at the back of the pub to watch for Matt. Between feverishly scanning the crowd and fielding nosy texts from Louis - where are you? I don’t buy that you’re sick. Are you stalking Matt? - Aiden wonders what he’s doing. “This must be what being a deranged fan feels like,” he says to himself. He has a disquieting feeling that their roles ought to be reversed. That Matt should be the famous star, and Aiden should be the nobody with a struggling career who watches, starstruck, from the anonymous crowd.
Seven Summers is fantastic once again. Now that Aiden has their album, he knows every song, and is able to sing along under his breath. When Matt encourages the crowd to join in on Youngblood, Aiden does so, and his heart almost stops when Matt’s eyes find his for a split second.
Their set over, the band breaks up, with different onlookers approaching them with words of encouragement and praise. Aiden stays at his table and finishes his drink.
His phone buzzes. It’s from Louis. Courage is all it says. Moments later, stop judging me, E4’s been doing reruns. Then, Just go TALK TO HIM
Aiden stands up. “Okay,” he says. “Okay. I can do this.”
Matt is at the bar, ordering a drink, and he’s leaning on the wood with one elbow and he’s sweaty and mussed from performing. Aiden feels his stomach twist up and he’s taken aback by how much he wants to talk to Matt. It’s like a need, and he starts moving tentatively around edge of the room. He loses sight of Matt as he slips past a small knot of people. When he scans the crowd again, Matt has disappeared. Aiden presses his back flat against the wall and tries to be invisible.
“I can’t believe I’m doing this,” Aiden mutters to himself.
“What was that?”
Aiden turns to find Matt there, holding a beer and looking confused. He’s wearing oversized glasses and has acquired a trapper hat. Aiden kind of wants to kiss him for no reason at all.
“Sorry, I was talking to myself,” Aiden says brilliantly.
“Right.” Matt half-smiles. “As long as you don’t start answering.”
Aiden laughs and wants to kick himself.
“Hey,” Matt says, “do I know you? You look familiar.”
Aiden’s stomach goes cold. “No,” he says too quickly. “No, I have a generic face or something. I’ve never seen you before.”
Matt nods, but looks unconvinced.
“I mean,” Aiden carries on blindly. “I mean, I have seen you before. Earlier, your gig. Uh, you’re really good.”
Matt smiles. Aiden feels a little bit of him shrivel up and knows then that he is well and truly fucked. “Thanks, man.”
“I got your album.” Aiden can’t shut up. He needs to keep Matt there, in front of him, talking to him, for as long as possible. “It’s fantastic. I can’t believe you’re not signed.”
Matt laughs. “We’re working on it. You know how it is. Waiting for a lucky break.”
“Yeah, I know what you mean.”
Matt looks at him, intrigued. “Are you sure I don’t know you?”
“Yeah, really. It’s my face.” Aiden really wants to kick himself now.
“Okay.” Matt raises his beer in a sort-of toast, and nods. “Well, I’ve got to get back.”
Something like desperation wells up in Aiden. “Can I buy you a drink?” he bursts out.
Matt just looks at him, and the moment stretches and stretches until Aiden is squirming. Finally Matt smiles again, but wider and toothier this time, and says, “After I’ve finished this one. Yeah, alright.”
“Cool,” Aiden breathes. “Cool, okay.”
“I’m Matt,” Matt says, holding out his hand. “Well, I guess you know that.”
“Yeah.” Aiden shakes his hand and tries not to hold on too long. “I’m Aiden.”
--
“You bought him a drink?”
“Yeah.”
“...And?”
“I left.”
“That’s the part I’m having trouble with.”
“We talked a bit, and it was great. And then his friends called him over, and... I just left.”
“No number? No ‘see you later’? No goodbye snog?”
“I barely know him.”
“Whose fault is that? Aidey, seriously. You suck at this.”
“Fuck off Louis.”
--
[EDIT: Missing part '1.5' (about two scenes) is here. Because I fail spectacularly and somehow missed copy/pasting it in originally.]
--
Aiden meets Matt outside McDonald’s the next morning, hood pulled up against the persistent drizzle. They both order breakfast and lots of coffee, and sit in a booth at the back. Aiden shakes the rain from his hair and Matt wipes his glasses. For stupid o’clock on a Monday morning, Aiden can’t stop grinning, and neither can Matt, and it’s all really rather wonderful.
“This is surreal,” Matt comments after half an hour of easy conversation. “I can’t believe you’re the Aiden Grimshaw.”
“At least you didn’t recognise me at first,” Aiden tells him.
“I may have Googled you last night.” Matt shakes his head. “Seriously. This is beyond weird. I mean, what if someone sees you?”
Aiden glances around automatically. He’s kept his hood up and has his back to most of the other customers. “It’s early,” he says. “Nobody’s paying attention, hopefully.”
“Isn’t it... I don’t know, isn’t it bad for your image to do stuff like this?” Matt looks awkward, stirring his coffee. “I mean I’m just an ordinary guy - and quite a bit older...”
“God, no!” Aiden instinctively moves to grab Matt’s arm, but saves himself by stealing one of Matt’s hash browns instead. “I mean, nobody is supposed to know anyway. I like to keep my private life private. But I mean - it’s my life, you know?”
Matt eats some chips and looks thoughtful.
“And anyway,” Aiden adds with a nervous laugh. “If they told me to stop seeing you I’d tell them to fuck off.”
Matt looks gratified, and Aiden glances down blushing furiously. “Good to know,” Matt says, and then changes the subject. Aiden decides Matt is so much better in person, and though that is amazing, it also means he’s kind of doomed.
Part 2