When he got back to the bedroom, his suitcase was at the foot of the bed. He rubbed himself dry and pulled on his sole pair of clean jeans and a T-shirt, then glanced out the window. Early May in California had been bright and beautiful. London was overcast and probably chilly. He grabbed his hoodie and pulled that on too.
Stan was right. It smelled. But he didn’t have anything else, so it would have to do.
He didn’t bother to do anything with his hair, just left the wet strands streaming water under the edge of his T-shirt, and went to find Tone. Instead he found Stan, sitting at a small, two-person kitchen table with his laptop and a cup of coffee.
Stan looked shocked to see him, like he wasn’t actually expecting Ben to drag himself out of bed.
“I’m ready,” Ben muttered.
“Great.”
Stan snapped his laptop shut and gathered up his phone, wallet, and keys, then shoved them all into his pockets. Years ago he would have carried a huge handbag, bright and bold and coordinating with his outfit. Someone or something had dulled Stan’s sparkle, and Ben hated it.
He didn’t say anything. It wasn’t his place to.
Tone was gone, Ben didn’t ask where, and he followed Stan as he locked up the apartment and headed out onto the street. They were right next to the lock, his old stomping ground. People rushed past, Londoners on their way somewhere or tourists taking their time, no one paying the slightest bit of attention to him. It was disconcerting and slightly comforting at the same time.
Stan didn’t offer any conversation as he picked up a brisk pace, heading out to the main road and turning right. They walked in silence for maybe fifteen minutes, deeper into Camden proper, until Stan stopped and pushed open a nondescript white door. The building was unmarked apart from the number on the door.
Inside an older woman sat at a computer, typing away. No one else was in the waiting area, but the posters on the wall gave Ben a good idea of where they were.
“Can I help?” she asked Stan in a bright voice.
“We have an appointment. Novikov.”
“You can actually go right in. We’re quiet this morning.”
Stan nodded his thanks and walked through the open door that led to a small clinical room.
Ben took a seat without being asked.
A few minutes later, a younger male nurse came into the room. “Good morning,” he said, shutting the door behind himself. “We’re doing a full screening today?”
Stan nodded. “For Ben, not me.”
If the nurse recognised either of them, he didn’t mention it.
“Right, no problem. Do you want to hop onto the bed for me? We’ll start with the blood tests.”
Ben did as he was told, though he could feel a flush of humiliation creeping up his neck. He was here for an STD test. Now that it was presented to him, he realised how necessary it really was. He hadn’t exactly been safe with either sexual activity or drugs in the past few months.
He wondered who had passed that information on to Stan. Who had made the decision to bring him here. Not telling him was a good choice. He never would have agreed to it before they left the flat. He didn’t want to kick up a fuss in front of the nice nurse, though—despite what people thought of him, he wasn’t a complete arsehole.
The blood test was fine. Ben turned his head away and didn’t look, barely wincing at the scratch of the needle in the crook of his elbow. Then the nurse took a swab and ran it around the inside of his cheek, and sealed it carefully, before handing Ben another sealed packet.
“I can do this for you, or you can do it yourself,” he said. “Most people prefer to do it themselves. You need to insert the swab into your urethra, less than an inch is fine, and quickly rotate it. It often makes you need to pee, so if you can give us a quick urine sample while you’re there, that would be great.”
Ben nodded and slid off the bed.
“The bathroom is just through there.”
He shut the door behind him and snapped the lock into place.
While he went through the even more humiliating process of sticking something in his dick, Jesus Christ, he could hear the low murmur of voices outside, the nurse and Stan talking. Maybe they knew each other. Ben couldn’t decide whether or not that was a good thing.
In the bathroom was a little red plastic basket with a laminated sign telling him that was where he should leave the samples, so he did, then washed his hands thoroughly.
The whole thing took less than fifteen minutes, and after Stan left his phone number with the receptionist for the results, they stepped back outside onto the grim street.
“I’m sorry I didn’t tell you where we were going. I promise I’m not going to do that again, or force you to do something you don’t want to do. But it was important.”
“No, it’s fine,” Ben mumbled.
Stan touched his arm, only lightly, though Ben still winced away, and they started walking back in the direction of the flat. Ben ignored the faint twin throbs in his elbow and his dick, painful reminders of the experience.
When Stan didn’t turn off toward the block of flats, Ben was almost surprised enough to say something. Then he decided he didn’t care, and followed Stan as he weaved his way through the growing crowds on Camden High Street.
Ben kept his hood up and his chin low, though he really wanted to look around and soak it all in. He hadn’t spent much time here since that crazy summer when the EP got picked up and played everywhere, and then the next year they got an invitation to fill a last-minute slot at Glastonbury. They played the John Peel Stage, the legendary home of new and up-and-coming music, and the reaction from the Somerset crowd had cemented their reputation as a band to watch.
Coming back to Camden to hang out or go to Buck Shot for a pint after that was out of the question. The one time they’d tried, all of them together as a band, they’d been mobbed, and Gem behind the bar had been forced to call the police to break it up. Tone had stayed working behind the bar for a few more months, up until Christmas, then even he had to give it up.
Maybe now no one expected to see a member of Ares walking down the High Street. Ben was supposed to be in LA, after all, recording the next album. They all posted often enough on social media that no one would expect him to be home. Not that Ben was in control of his own social media any more. Someone from the record label did that for him. Probably some unpaid intern. Poor sod.
Stan turned abruptly into a store, and Ben almost stumbled as he followed him. It took a few seconds to realise they were in H&M.
He still didn’t care what Stan decided to do with him, even if he was curious as to Stan’s choice of shopping location. Ben was pretty sure Stan had never been the sort to shop in H&M back when they were together, and he definitely didn’t look like he did now.
“Here, hold this,” Stan said, picking up a shopping basket and thrusting it in Ben’s direction.
Ben did as he was told, following Stan to the men’s department.
There, he watched as Stan filled the basket with underwear, socks, T-shirts and shirts and jeans, and a dark grey hoodie that had somehow been put on the racks amongst the summer T-shirts and shorts. Ben was vaguely aware that a lot of this stuff was in his size and that his size was maybe the same as Stan’s size these days. Stan looked a hell of a lot better now than he had when he was really ill, but he was still very slim. Now his arms looked toned, though, instead of scrawny, and he carried more muscle across his chest.