Ste's P.O.V
You're dreading the night ahead. Working with Brendan after he hit you only hours ago will not only be awkward but it'll be tense, silent, questions will lurk in the air but you'll be too afraid to ask them. You're afraid of what he'll ask you. You don't know what to expect. Cheryl told you that she was going to give him an earful when she got home but you fear that might have made him worse. You don't want to feel like a snitch.
When you get to the pub you stand outside for a moment and pace, run through things in your head, scenarios that might occur throughout the night and how to deal with them. You know you have to be patient. You've never had a job before and you don't want to screw it up on the first day. Plus, if you don't give Brendan a reason to hate you surely he should start treating you with more respect? You might even be friends. But then again, you might drop something because you're clumsy as hell and he could shout at you, could insult you and use every name under the sun. You don't want conflict because you're not very good at holding your tongue, will happily scream at him if he pushes you too far.
Maybe you should just go in there and tell Mr Brady that this job isn't necessary. You feel dangerous stepping into Brendan's territory and you know you're unwanted for many reasons. You're gay, extravagant and extrovert and you aren't the brightest bulb in the room but it isn't your fault. You can't help how you feel, can't help the fact that your mum took you out of school to instead go to the shops and steal for her.
You take a deep breath, shake the nerves out of your system and waltz in there like you own the place. You can't show that you're scared. Not now because people like Brendan will take advantage of your fear and vulnerability, you've been there before and you don't plan on going back.
"Ah. Steven! How are you lad?"
Seamus is ready and waiting, leaning against the bar with a shot of whisky in hand and he spots you before you spot him. As soon as you set your sight on him you shuffle over and join him and he stares at your nose in horror, a rehearsed look in your opinion.
"I heard about what my son did. I can only apologise on his behalf."
He furrows his brow, gives you a look of pity but it doesn't fool you. You know what this piece of scum is like, you've seen it with your own eyes. He's only being nice to you for Cheryl's sake. She's had to have words with him before because he's acted funny towards you and you told her about it. He pats you on the shoulder and smiles, his way of checking that the apology is accepted, which it isn't because you don't want an apology off of him. You want one off Brendan.
"It's fine. I've had worse. Where is he?"
You ask, trying to divert the conversation onto something other than your injury. You're getting enough funny looks as it is from everyone else in the pub, all of them whispering behind your back and speculating about what you could have possibly done to sustain an injury like it.
"He's... clearing something up upstairs. Silly boy walked into the cupboard door and hurt his lip, blood everywhere."
He chuckles and rolls his eyes, is attempting to put it down to clumsiness. Brendan isn't clumsy. He has quick reflexes, you've seen them. There have been times when glasses have slipped off the side of the bar and he's caught them just before they've hit the floor. You refuse to believe that he walked into a cupboard door.
At that moment you see Brendan trudging towards the bar, an arm wrapped around his torso, his eyes blood shot from where he's evidently been crying. His lip is swollen and bloody and there's new bruising forming around his eye socket. He is in a right state and when his eyes meet yours, you can see it; the weakness, the cry for help. He is hurt. So hurt, not just physically but mentally and he's emotionally exhausted.
You want to pull him into your arms, sit on the floor and rock him back and forth, allow him to cry if he wanted, run your fingers through his hair and tell him that everything is going to be fine. You wanted someone to do that to you when you'd been beaten.
There is good in him, you can see it, but this sick man man that is sat next to you has his claws in Brendan so deep you can practically see the puncture wounds.
"You alright?"
You ask in a worried tone and Brendan just nods, avoids eye contact with the both of you and he heads down to what you presume is the cellar.
"Go with him son."
Seamus says and you don't hesitate, immediately run around the bar, barge through the door and take the steps two at a time until you reach the bottom. It's freezing cold and dark down her. There's moisture to the air and you can smell strong whiskey which must be from the times where bottles have been smashed and the liquid leaked into the floor. It's slightly sticky beneath your feet.
You see Brendan in the corner, filling a crate with beers and you slowly walk over to him, stop about half way because you don't want to get too close. You know he's angry because that's what you used to feel like after a beating and every time one of your friends urged you to talk, you'd just flip your lid.
The last you thing you want to do was make him feel uncomfortable.
"Brendan?"
You say slowly and that's when you see his shoulders shake and his head slump between them. Is he...crying? You hear him sniff and let out a deep, laboured breath. Then he turns, looks at you directly in the eyes and you see a tear fall down his cheek.
"Come here."
Your resolve breaks and you're about to step forward and hug him, don't care about the tension between you at this time because it's not important. However he takes a step back and raises his arm slightly, doesn't want you to come closer and you understand that. He doesn't want your pity.
'"Did... did he do that?"
You enquire, don't want to be too invasive but something you've found is that talking about things makes them seem a bit better.
"What's it to you?"
He asks gravelly, his arm tightening around his ribs.
"This is all my fault."
If you hadn't pushed him, hadn't got lost in your own fury then none of this would have happened. You're sassy, you know that and you do have a temper, just like Brendan does.
"No! Don't you do that."
He says, shakes his head vigorously as he blinks his tears away and you take another step forward, slowly try to enter his personal space without making him feel pressured or uncomfortable.
"But..."
"No Steven. I never should have hit you and I'm... I'm...s-sorry"
Those are words that you have been dying to hear but you never got your hopes up because you didn't think you'd ever hear them. Not from someone like Brendan Brady. You're not really sure how to respond, don't want to instantaneously forgive him because it's too easy, it'll make you look like a mug, someone to take advantage of. But you don't want this bad blood between you two anymore. The least you can do it try to get along.
"Don't worry about it."
Your emotions are so conflicted. One minute you find him bearable. You can have a conversation with him and even share a laugh. That hasn't happened in a long time. The next minute he's being a tosser to you and you want to punch him.
You're looking at him now, analysing everything and he's weak, broken, worn down to absolutely nothing and you know that feeling, know what it's like thinking you have nothing and no one and you swore, the day you left that god forsaken house, that if you saw something like this, like Brendan, then you'd do anything to help.
You hold out a hand and he stares at it, like it's something abnormal, like he's never shaken hands with someone before.
"You're supposed to shake it."
You say, but not in a demeaning tone, more with an element of humour.
"Why are you being so nice to me? I don't deserve it."
He says and he wipes his nose with the cuff of his bloody jumper, leans back against the crates and barrels of alcohol into a more comfortable position to relieve the strain off of his torso.
"Maybe you could try being nice to me some time? I'm not all bad."
You see the edge of his lip curl into a smile and it knocks the wind out of you. It's beautiful. His perfect row of straight, white, gleaming teeth, surrounded by pink, kissable lips. It's a sight that has completely caught you off guard, a sight to behold. Your breath hitches slightly, gets stuck in your windpipe and you try to swallow it down, try to mask the fact that you are practically choking on your own Oxygen.
"Maybe... we could start again yeah? We do have to work together now and... your Cheryl would be a bit happier if she sees that we're at least trying to get along."
Your voice changes at the 'trying' part. You know Brendan doesn't really like you and you don't really like him. His ways irritate you, how he thinks he is the big bad wolf, how he gets up in your face and defensive about anything and everything. You want to make peace. You keep your arm extended a little longer, then he suddenly steps forward, lifts his hand about half way then hesitates. You wonder if he's going to take his hand away, refuse to try and be civil with you but after contemplating for a small moment he presses your palms together, closes his fingers around your hand, his grip; relatively gentle yet firm and he doesn't take his eyes away from yours as he shakes.
Your breath hitches again, heart hammers in your ears at the sudden contact. The warmth of his hand vibrates through your entire body, like electricity pulsing through a telephone wire and sweat prickles your skin. You're hot and heavy underneath the collar and you wonder if he is feeling what you're feeling. You take note of how his body straightens slightly, how it turns rigid and tense. The intensity of his gaze makes you shift, causes a twinge in your gut.
Your eyes slip from his gaze and travel down to his bruised lips, lips that you want to bruise even more with yours. You want to lick the cut better, kiss every inch of his face, his black eye, his swollen nose, his ribs which are evidently hurting as that arm is still wrapped around his midriff.
What has caused you to suddenly feel like this you don't know. You don't like him, you've never really got on. He's always dug at you, whispered things under his breath to try and get a rise out of you but now you're seeing him in a completely different light.
He pulls away when he realises that things are getting too tense, blinks a couple of times to try and get his head around what just happened; if anything happened at all. You realise that you can breathe again and the sudden chill of the cellar cools your hot, sweaty skin, the sudden loss of physical contact turning your blood cold.
"Start again."
He croaks, attempts to clear his throat and he hooks a finger into his collar and pulls slightly like it's too tight around his neck.
"Yeah."
You agree and then clap your hands together, rock slightly on your heels and look about, try to find something to do but your lack of experience falters you here because you have no idea what to do.
"So...where do you want me?"
You ask and you see his fists clench, hear them crack, watch as his knuckles turn white and you suddenly realise how suggestive your sentence is.
"Oh... not like that. I just mean...what do you want me to do because... I don't what I'm doing do I?"
You talk quickly, throw out any excuse you can and you suddenly panic, see a darkness in his eyes. You've accused him once before of being gay and he nearly broke your face then. You've just made peace and you don't want it to go tits up already. He doesn't respond for about 30 seconds and it causes you to gulp loudly, hold a breath until he speaks.
"Just...come help me fill this crate."
He says as he turns back around and starts filling a crate with beer. You walk over to him slowly, watch what he is doing for a second then replicate his actions until the crate is full.
"Now what?"
You ask, tapping your fingers against the plastic and he smirks at you, shoots an intimidating grin.
"What?!"
You demand, dropping your hands beside your waist as he giggles, shakes his head from side to side. You debate on nudging him but think twice because he is hurt and you're still too scared to touch him.
"You know how to pour a pint but you don't know what to do when a crate is full?"
Humour is still tangled in his tone and you smile with him because this is a rare moment. You and Brendan Brady laughing together and in all honesty, you could get used to this.
"Never worked in a pub before. Not really."
You only seem to crack him up more with your defence.
"What's so funny?"
"Nothing. You're just a funny little thing."
He replies and you hide your face in embarrassment, feel a blush rise in your cheeks, your temperature flying through the roof.
"Anyway, we carry these up to the bar and re-stock the fridges."
You go to lift up the crate yet you find it's ridiculously heavy, end up dropping it back down onto the surface and the bottles clink together loudly, the plastic leaving marks in the plans of your hands from how tight you were gripping the sides.
"Jesus. How am I meant to lift that?!"
"My god boy. I'll carry them. You just load them up okay? You need to work on those little chicken arms of yours."
He mutters crudely then he squeezes your arm with his large hand, the heat of his palm radiating through your jumper and there it is again. The lump in your throat, the rush of blood and adrenalin.
"Oi! Shut up!"
You say and you nudge him with your hip, a little harder than intended but he barely falters, barely stumbles with the force.
Without another word he lifts the crate with ease, such ease that you really do feel like a twink, highly embarrassed in fact. He takes it away and walks up the stairs and you can't help but follow him with your eyes, sneakily eye him up just to get a look.
When he's put of sight you start filling the crates 6 bottles at a time, 3 in each hand. This job is relatively easy and it kills the time quite quickly. You start singing a little tune to yourself, shake your leg in a rhythmic style because you've always loved music, always made up stupid little tunes in your head, despite the fact that you're tone deaf.
"Jesus. You fill crates fast!"
Brendan's voice startles you, makes you jump on the spot and slap a hand against your chest to try and stop your heart from bursting out.
"Do I?"
You ask modestly. You thought it was slow in all fairness, you weren't putting in a lot of effort.
'Yeah. Bloody hell.'
He bends down and picks up three crates that are stacked up on top of each other and you watch in awe. He's incredibly strong.
You note that he has taken his jumper off and you see the sleeves of his t-shirt ride up over his muscles and you practically salivate, dribble dripping out onto your lip but you wipe it away with the back of your hand before he notices. You're a sucker for a pair of muscles. Not that you're picky or you'd turn a guy down if they weren't particularly muscly.
"Come on. This should be enough."
He says and you just nod. If you physically say something you fear that there might be a puddle of drool on the floor. As you follow him up the stairs your eyes are instantly on his arse and god is it even more gorgeous up close, accentuated by the tightness of his jeans.
You can't believe that it's now that you're finally starting to notice how beautiful Brendan is, how muscly and toned and good looking he is. It's thrown you off completely.
Your 6 hour shift is over in a blink of an eye, probably because you we've been swept off of your feet pouring pints at light speed, collecting glasses and re-stocking fridges. It's completely worn you out.
Now you're just wiping down the tables and sweeping underneath them as the last few people finish their drinks and take their leave. Both you and Brendan are still under the watchful eye of Seamus but Brendan seems to be more at scrutiny. You and him worked pretty well together, had a laugh when you could but he still seemed shifty towards you.
When you've wiped the last table down you head back behind the bar, put away the cleaning utensils and empty the dustpan, rid of all the cigarette remains.
That's one thing you like about working here. Instead of asking for a break you can just go over to a table, pretend that you're serving but instead passive smoke. It's nowhere near as satisfying as feeling all of those toxins fill your lungs directly from the butt but it's something you're willing to do to compensate.
You're too scared to ask for a break anyway.
"Steven."
Seamus slurs unexpectedly from the corner of the bar. His gruff voice startles you but you do as he asks and make your way over to him, have to try and shift past Brendan but your hands brush. You subtly make eye contact with him although you fear that you might get another punch in the face but he's giving you an unusual look. A look that you have never seen before. His eyes are darker, pupil blown and as he looks you up and down, you shift a little awkwardly under his strong gaze.
It's a quick subtle look but after a small moment of looking at you he turns away, suddenly disinterested.
"Wages for tonight."
He mutters as he puts a fag in his mouth and he slaps £30 on the bar.
"But it was just a trial tonight Mr Brady."
You say and you push the money back towards him. You don't think it'd be fair to get paid for a night of work that you didn't really do. Brendan was showing you the ropes most of the time and you simply followed him about before you felt confident enough to do things independently.
"Keep it lad. You did well tonight. Very impressive."
He lights his cigarette, puffs out the smoke above his head and then picks up the money and forces it into your shirt pocket. You don't protest again, just smile kindly and thank him.
"Hop off home now son. See you tomorrow."
His fake smile makes you cringe but you force yourself to return it. The last thing you want to do is offend the boss. There's still some things that need to be done but there's no negotiation here. You can't argue against him so you make your way out from behind the bar and shuffle towards the door, peer behind your shoulder last minute to catch Brendan's eye and there's a small, polite smile on his face. Already things feel better between you, not so tense or hateful or rough.
You smile back, more genuine this time and not as tight as your smile was to Seamus. You can smile at Brendan with much more ease and as you look at him for a little longer, your mind begins to play tricks because you're sure you see him wink.