Notes: This is a long chapter. Very long. I really didn't want to split it, though. Title and lyrics once again from the song Baltimore's Fireflies by Woodkid.
The beautiful new cover art is a picture drawn by teiubesc8 on tumblr (can't post full urls) and inspired by this fic. Her art is incredible and I recommend you all go swing by and admire it and give her lots of praise because she deserves it :)
Warnings: Allusions to child abuse, sexual and physical. Also mentions of domestic abuse.
Word Count ~ 9000
what are the words that I'm supposed to say?
your white skin, swirling fireflies.
darkness has surrounded baltimore bay.
why don't you open your blue eyes?
*x*x*
His father has a hand fisted in Steven's hair and he drags him to his knees across grey concrete and forces Steven to look at Brendan, right in the eye, and tell him how much he's worth.
'Everything, Brendan'
'No'
His father hits him, tells him it's Steven's fault - 'you deserve this' in Brendan's own voice like a fucking echo and Steven says 'I know, I'm sorry' and Brendan wants to scream and rail but he can't, his father's sapped him of all his strength and all he can do is watch. He watches as Steven looks down at the ground and says 'you're worthless, Brendan, you'll never change' and Brendan wants to say 'no, I can, I have' but he can't do that either.
He can't argue with that.
He wants to but he can't.
Brendan.
He wakes with a jolt, instantly alert in a split-second. He could swear blind someone just said his name somewhere close, sounded like it was right next to him, but he's alone in his room and he falls back into the pillows.
Hearing things. Un-fucking-surprising after all the sleep he hasn't had.
Dull, grey light spills in through his curtains and he checks the clock - 6:12am. The flat is silent. It's simultaneously unnerving and peaceful after the normal, everyday hustle and bustle he's gotten used to.
At least nobody can call him lazy today.
He shakes off the last of his dream and stands on wobbly legs, weak at the knees, his joints all pliant like plasticine. His head feels heavy and filled with something thick and syrupy and when he moves and starts to get dressed he feels like he's sloshing about sluggishly.
What he needs is something hot and extremely caffeinated.
When he gets into the hall he notices the kitchen light's off but his lounge is lit up with weak, wash-out sunlight shimmering in from between the blinds. At first glance it looks like nobody's in there but then he has a moment of utter, heart-stopping panic that has him reeling back an entire foot and gasping out a noise like a high, cut off shriek. He's moving on sheer unconscious force towards the body laid out on the fur rug close to the balcony doors.
Steven's facing away and on his side, one arm stretched up under his head, and Brendan skids onto his knees next to him, takes the arm bent out in front of him and rolls him onto his back and half into Brendan's lap, supports his shoulders with an arm around his back.
"Ste - Steven - wake up, hey - " he whispers hoarsely. His voice has abandoned him almost completely, stuck deep inside and can't claw its way up through thick, clouded-white fear.
Steven shifts and his eyelashes flutter. Brendan pulls him closer, secure and safe, and edges him towards slow consciousness with quiet, pleading noises.
"Wha - what's 'appened?" Steven asks roughly. His eyes are glassy he blinks rapidly, squints up at Brendan.
"I dunno, you tell me. I woke up and you were takin' a nap on my rug," Brendan tells him, tries to push humour through the terror in his trembling voice.
"Don't even remember fallin' asleep." Steven frowns, pulls one arm back to lean against his elbow and take some of his weight. He rubs his face with his free hand, swallows and winces. "I was just lookin' out the window after you'd gone back to bed."
"You probably passed out. Do you hurt, anywhere?" Brendan asks and Steven gives him a raised eyebrow and a dry half-smile in return. "Apart from in the obvious places, smart-arse."
"My back hurts but I did sleep on the floor," he says and arches a little against Brendan's body. "Ah - my arm."
The arm he was laying on. "Musta fallen on it. Just what you need, another injury."
"I love it, me. Makes me look well 'ard," he breathes like he's trying to laugh and talk and groan at the same time.
The usual bravado isn't even there, though. Steven looks openly scared and confused. He looks younger than he's ever looked and his eyes are fixed on Brendan's like he's begging for something to just be okay. He doesn't know why these things are happening to him and Brendan knows what it's like to feel like everything's falling out of your control.
"Yeah, alright, hard man. You're not planning on laying on the floor forever, though, right?" Brendan asks and Steven shakes his head and holds himself up whilst Brendan stands.
He reaches down and hauls Steven up off the rug and stays close to support him when he sways. They're both a bit unsteady on their feet and it's like the blind leading the fucking blind here. Steven tips his forehead against Brendan's shoulder and breathes into the material of his t-shirt and Brendan brings up shaking hands to rest lightly against his sides. Just in case, he tells himself. Don't want him to fall over again.
After a while, when Steven's heart has stopper fluttering against Brendan's ribs, he murmurs, "y'okay?" and Steven nods and moves out of his embrace, clothes quietly whispering. "Sit down, I'm making you some toast - "
"Bren - "
"Please," Brendan chokes, tears out of him desperately and without thought and Steven's expression softens. Brendan goes on, tries to clear the pleading edge out of his voice, "I'll even put honey on it for you; supposed to be good for sore throats or something."
Steven snuffs a laugh through his nose. "You bought honey?"
"Yeah - umm, just saw it in the - in the shop and - "
"Knew that I loved it on toast?"
Brendan rolls his eyes, tries not to smile. "Don't flatter yourself."
Steven blinks slowly, smiles, indulgent and sweet and tired. "Knowing you, you probably bought the squirty bottled crap anyway."
"Au contraire, mon Steven," Brendan corrects with flourish, heads into the kitchen and gets out a jar of the good stuff.
"Nice," he says approvingly and perches on one of the stools. "I'm teaching you, aren't I?"
"Whatever, Jamie Oliver."
"Couldn't 'ave picked someone better?"
"Sorry, yeah, that was pretty offensive, " Brendan says with a sniff, puts the kettle on, slides two pieces of bread into the toaster, real scene of domesticity that he kind of hates because it make it seem like a possibility, like something they could easily have. He swallows, throat clicking painfully. "Ramsay or Nigella?"
"You know what?" Steven scoffs. "Nigella - any day."
Brendan chuckles, weird, kind of hysterical sound, and he feels his hands start to shake. "Just - I'll be back in one second, just stay - "
"I'm not a dog, Brendan. Where'd you think I'm gonna go?"
"Yeah - okay - I'll - " he stutters, points to the hall and Steven frowns at him.
Brendan hears his voice at his back as he scarpers into the bathroom and slams the door shut, falls back against it and sinks to the floor. He'd thought - Steven had been on the floor and he'd thought - he'd seen it in his head, all of it. Steven, pale, lips blue, cold skin and rigour. The word dead hits into him like a roughly thrown football, smacks into his chest and makes him breathless. What would he have done? Woken up Amy? Kept Leah and Lucas away? Phoned an ambulance so some paramedic could have confirmed it? Could have said time of death...
Like Lynsey.
Only he wouldn't have had Steven there to drag him away and hold him back, to ground him and stop him falling into the black, screaming abyss.
He needs a minute to calm down, needs time for the word alive to sink into his half-soft brain and take root so he can believe it. He can't cope with anymore shocks, doesn't he think his heart can handle it. He's sick of feeling wild like a ribbon caught in the wind, twisted and blown about, passed here and there, catching on clawing branches and chipped concrete, sharp edges and razor angles. Everything hurts. He doesn't know how to make it stop.
He gets up, leans over the sink and splashes cold water across his face and neck, dries himself on a towel and dares a glance in the mirror. There's nothing remotely healthy about what he sees staring back at him. He's about to go and comfort Lysney's family looking like it's him that belongs in a coffin.
Back in the kitchen, Steven's hunched over the breakfast counter, head pillowed on his folded arms, and for a second Brendan's thinks he's asleep and doesn't know what to do. He's not a five year old; Brendan can't pick him up like a princess and carry him off to bed. Or, maybe -
"I'm awake," he says roughly and Brendan jumps.
"Thank God. Was deciding how I was gonna move you."
Brendan gets back to breakfast, toast cold in the toaster so he replaces it with two new slices. He hands Steven a steaming mug and he hasn't asked Brendan what's wrong. Brendan's grateful and kind of in awe. They exist in perfect understanding of each other, some weird symbiosis. Words go unspoken but that doesn't mean they aren't there, it doesn't mean they don't know. They share this burden of suffering and it's just another anchor between them, another axon of connection amongst a million other tangled, sparking neurons.
Steven bites into his honey-covered toast, make a small noise of appreciation that shoots right into Brendan's stomach and blooms. It's not sexual. It's deeper than that. Its giving Steven a moment of happiness and it hits him low and addictive.
"What time we heading up?" Steven asks and cuts through it.
"I'm gonna go pick up the car at nine and then we can get straight off."
"What's Belfast like?"
Brendan coughs a dry laugh. "It's okay. Me and Eileen lived there a lot of years. Declan was a boy there. I got good memories."
"Why'd you move back to Dublin?"
"You want the quick answer or the depressing one?" he asks and leans against the counter.
"Honestly?" Brendan nods. "The depressing one. But whichever you fancy's alright."
He doesn't really know how to start so he doesn't start anywhere, just talks and hopes it goes somewhere.
"We were supposed to be this perfect family, me and Chez and her ma' and Seamus. People thought we were. My dad used to tip his hat to the neighbours when he went out. He held doors open for the women. He bought you a pint down the local," Brendan tells him softly, finds himself fading into the haze of his murky memories. "He treated Cheryl like a princess, she was our daddy's little girl. He bought Cheryl's ma flowers and told them they were the prettiest girls in all of Ireland - then he'd get me on my own and smirk and tell me the same thing."
Steven visibly shudders, breath stuttering out like he's frozen cold. He reaches out slowly, cautiously, and cups his palm around Brendan's forearm and Brendan lets the warmth soak into him. He remembers before, when he would have shaken Steven off, take it off or I will break your arm, and he tries to push the thoughts back and away. Once that crack appears stuff just drips through unchecked, bad memory after bad memory from deepest recesses of his treacherous brain.
"People put us on this pedestal. When I acted up - when I was moody or angry - I was just awkward. I was a problem child. Nobody wanted to know why. They looked at our family and didn't think they needed to ask."
"Dad - "
" - what is it now, boy?"
"Mr Brady, thank you for coming."
"What has he done now, eh?"
"There's been an incident with another teacher, Mr Deegan. Hasn't there, Brendan?"
He says nothing. Stares at the floor. Just like always.
"Brendan hit a teacher, Mr Brady."
"That right, boy?"
He nods.
"From what I can tell, Mr Deegan couldn't get his attention and put a hand on Brendan's shoulder and he just - snapped. Is that what happened, Brendan?"
"I didn't want him to touch - "
"This isn't the first time Brendan's lost his temper, Mr Brady. As well you know."
"I didn't want him to touch me - "
"I know, he's a handful is our Brendan. Always has been."
"I didn't want - " Brendan's voice is just a whisper. Nobody in this room can hear him. Nobody in this room is listening.
"Brendan!"
He hears his name through fog and in a tone that tells him Steven's being saying it a while. There's a hand clenched tight around his own and he squeezes back desperately, rubs his thumb over the rough, bitten and picked skin of Steven's fingers and thumbs.
"Come back, wherever it is you just went - come back. Look at me."
He does. He's helpless to Steven's command.
"It doesn't exist, not anymore. It's the past and the past can't hurt you," Steven says, rough and urgent. "People can hear you now, Brendan. I can hear you. You're not alone and you never will be, again."
"Really?" he breathes and instantly wants to take it back. It's too pathetic, too small.
"No matter what happens or - doesn't happen I will never turn my back on you." Steven's so sure of himself, so wants Brendan to believe him, so much that Brendan can feel his words being pushed through the air like a physical force.
Brendan sees himself in Steven's future, can see how it will play out. They'll live their lives right alongside each other and there'll be others, Steven might even fall in love again one day, but Brendan will always be put above the rest and it's not vanity that leads him to that revelation, just cold, hard fact. He'll destroy every one of Steven's relationships with his presence. The weight of the realisation is both punishing and dangerously powerful.
He reaches out blindly, hands closing around Steven's forearms. It's so close. So close to something. So irresistible. So inevitable.
He thinks that he's going to lean forwards and he does. He thinks that he's going to cement everything into one, solid whole and he wants to. He thinks he's going to kiss Steven and he almost does.
"Daddy?"
They both jump apart and Brendan shakes himself, could fucking hurt himself right now. Lucas stands in the hallway arch and Steven goes straight to him, swings him up into his arms.
"Hiya, what's up baby?" he asks softly and Lucas just yawns and stretches. "I'm never there when he wakes up," he says sheepishly to Brendan. "I'm always in 'ere, aren't I?"
"Yeah," Brendan breathes, half an exhausted laugh. "I'm gonna go get Cheryl and Amy up. We best be gettin' everything ready."
He hops down and passes by Steven and his son and just hopes that he has the strength to get through today without doing something incredibly stupid.
Brendan heads out to collect the hire car, six-seater Honda, feels weird when he drives it but there's six of them so he can't be too choosy.
He swings by and they load up, bags and kids and Brendan had swung by the a few places on his way back and gotten a packet of Dramamine and a box of dry crackers for Leah. Steven had said you remembered? and Brendan had shrugged off his look of pure affection and mumbled something like just thought - might be useful - obviously you don't have to - she's your girl - and trailed off awkwardly.
Steven looks a little flushed and nauseous by the time they've finished and Brendan corrals him into the front seat. It's partly selfish, he likes having Steven near and where he can see and talk to him, and partly because there's no way he's giving Steven Dramamine, or any drugs in fact, and Brendan doesn't want to be stopping every ten minutes for him to get fresh air so he doesn't vomit or pass out.
They drive and Cheryl chatters loudly and Brendan gazes at the country and mountains, the landscape of his home, dull-green and weak sunlight and grey clouds but still - so beautiful, not unlike the boy sat in his passenger seat. He shows Steven Lugnaquilla, highest mountain in the Wicklow range, tells him about the weekend he was visiting old friends and he and Jason Dunn had set out with the real intention of conquering it and instead gotten pissed a quarter of the way up and rolled pretty much the whole way back down.
Steven laughs and Brendan soaks it up, sits and thinks up more stories to regail him with just to bring that brightness out of him, wants to distract him from how he's picking at the skin of his thumbs again, raw and with blood underneath his nails and it's a small pain but Brendan still wants him to stop. He tells Steven about the time he got arrested showing off in front of his mates, jumping off the pier at Dun Laoghaire Harbour and nearly breaking both his legs and drowning all at the same time. He doesn't tell Steven what his da did to him when he had to come bail him out. Doesn't tell him about the belt and welts and days of no sleep.
They cross the border into Northern Ireland and stop at a cafe for lunch and Brendan heads outside to stretch his legs. He hates being cooped up for long periods, needs air and space to breathe and calm his twitching nerves.
He hears her footsteps before she speaks, could sense her presence even if he was blind. "Y'okay, love?"
Love. She hasn't called him that in ages. It makes him want to do something in return, give her something back.
"Bit knackered," he says and he presses his back into the white concrete wall of the quaint, little café building.
She comes and leans up next to him. There's hardly a thing out here, just sparse forest and farmland and stretching road for miles and miles.
"You look it. Ste, too."
"Yeah, well. He's been through a lot."
"We all have, Bren. You included." He looks at her and doesn't say a thing. Cheryl can make or break him with words and words are what he needs from her right now. "Whatever happened in that place - you're a mess. I've never seen you like this. I'm worried about you."
"Y'are?"
"Course I am. I'm your wee sister, never stop worrying about you. Even - even before, with - y'know - " She still can't talk about it. " - but I think it's okay. I think so. Everything you've done for us to keep us safe - you're not a monster, Bren. I never should have said that."
"Thanks, Chez," he says with a breathy laugh. "I needed that. Steven says it, says all these things - I can't believe him, y'know?"
"Why not?"
"'Cause he - "
"Because he loves you?"
"Yeah." Fucking gives him life, flows and scorches through him, to be able to admit that. Cheryl saying it, him admitting it. It's searing light and hot, burning gas like the sun.
"He's not stupid, Brendan. He doesn't love you blindly."
"I'm not sayin' he's stupid, he's not. He's too forgiving. Always had been when it comes to me. Loves me too much."
"Too much?"
"Scares me," he admits softly and can't really believe he just said that. He's missed her so much. "Just this - massive thing. Takes up everything. I don't know how to - what to do with it."
She considers him. "You just love him back, that's all you do."
"I do. It's the same. It's too big. He's just - Steven has everything. There's nothin' left of me, Chez," and he can't believe how broken and exhausted his voice sounds when those words scrape out of him. "You need two whole people to make a relationship. We ain't even close."
"You don't think you can fix each other?"
"Doesn't work like that. Steven couldn't fix me before and Lord knows he tried. I'll break him all over again, I know I will. There's not that much left of him as it is. He needs to heal and - and I'm a murderer, Cheryl."
She shivers, touches his shoulder with a shaking hand, says his name firmly, sounds just like her irate ma, "Brendan. You're not that man anymore."
People don't change, son. Once a waste of space, always a waste of space.
Just another victim of Brendan Brady.
"People don't change."
"Ste did."
Brendan smiles, it breaks over his face, cracks him apart like pressurised light trying to bleed out through a million tiny gaps. "Steven ain't just people."
"Bren - "
"Remember that time I pretended to fall off McArt's Fort?" he says over her.
She huffs, rolls her eyes. "Brendan, look - "
"You screamed so loud - think you were crying at one point, weren't you?"
"I was mourning," she says eventually, can't resist defending her honour. "I thought you'd gone and gotten yourself killed y'idiot."
"Lynsey was all calm, trying to get you to shut up. She was tryin' to find my pulse but what was she - like thirteen? Didn't have a clue." Cheryl laughs, goes soft and fond. "I'd like to think I'm part of the reason she became a nurse, actually."
"She did love to pretend to operate on you."
"Remember when she stuck that straw up my nose?"
Cheryl explodes into a fit of snorting laughter and damp, bright eyes. "Oh, that was hilarious. You had the sniffles for about a week, you were in such a mood."
"She bought me Jelly Babies to say sorry," he remembers sweetly. "Out of her own spending money and everything."
"She loved you."
"She loved you, too." He reaches out to her and pulls her close into his arms and she comes effortlessly.
"Life's too short not to give love a chance, Bren."
He pauses and pulls away to look at her. "Really? Really? You sound like a bloody greeting card, Chez. What the hell was that?"
"What?" she squeaks, affronted.
"Life's too short not to give love a chance? What are you, Hallmark?"
"I thought it was sweet!"
"Jesus Christ, woman - " He'd go on but Cheryl's smacking him round the head and digging her fingers into his hair painfully.
"Cold, heartless bastard - "
"Dear Deirdre you ain't, sis," he chokes out through her assault and he can tell she's trying not to laugh.
He's in Belfast and his sister's hands are giving him bruises and he feels about ten again, pulling her hair and trying to run away before she grabs him. Calling her names and only just managing not to stick his tongue out like he is actually a child because he's that giddy with her, that drunk on her affection like he's binging on it after a dry-spell. She claws at his shoulders and jumps up onto his back, legs crushing around his hips so he has to hold her up or fall right over.
"Giddy up."
"To where, exactly?" he deadpans.
"Umm - car?"
"The car that's twenty feet away?"
"Yup."
It's a small ask in the grand scheme of things. Even if he is exhausted and aching and tender all over, he can do it just this once, if it makes her happy. He hoists her up and starts to trudge across the gravel car park, her ridiculous, Hallmark clichés punching through his every step.
He pulls them up at the hotel they're staying in, the one Lysney's parents have chosen to hold tonight's wake at. It's out of the town center, a multi-part building spread out across a huge acre of sprawling land. Victorian-era architecture, solid pillars and arches and intricately carved stone around tall, lead-patterned windows.
They unload and he checks them in, rooms spread out along the same hall, Steven sandwiched between him and Amy, unspoken but Amy gives him a tiny nod of appreciation.
Inside the room he lies down, wants to get a couple of hours sleep before he has to face Lynsey's family, one member in particular, but all that really happens is the lying down part.
He yawns. He itches at his arm. He lays on his side and front and rolls over onto his back, shuts his eyes, gazes about.
The room is nice, beige and brown wallpaper, forest green bed covers on the big double, set of chairs to his right, balcony overlooking the terrace and gardens below. There's four stains on the ceiling above his head, look like four circular scorch marks like someone's held a lighter to those spots of plaster and tried to set a fire. Pissed off guests, maybe? Partying rock stars? Kids getting into daddy's luggage and finding the flicky fire-making thing.
Time passes and he could tear his hair out with all the things he's resolutely not thinking about.
He's not stupid. He doesn't love you blindly -
You just love him back -
All he does is destroy and all of you forgive him over and over because you're so blinded by him -
His brain is like a fucking radio with no off button. Keeping his mind blank these days is like trying to shovel snow in the middle of a blizzard. He's almost relieved when there's a knock at the door.
He thinks it's probably Cheryl. It's not.
"Hiya, can I come in?"
He thinks it's kind of weird that Steven's asking so politely instead of barging straight in. He wonders if it's part of that space thing they talk about but can't seem to get round to actually trying out.
"Yeah, what's up?"
Steven walks in, perches himself on the edge of the bed. "Just wondered if you were alright, that's all."
He wants to smile, instantly lighter, instantly at ease. Just them, genuinely alone, in the comfort and safety of this room. He didn't know that this is exactly what he needed until right now. "Bit emotional, I guess."
Steven pats the mattress next to him with a small, cheesy grin. "Step into my office."
Brendan chuckles and thinks don't, but he goes around to the side of the bed and throws himself down regardless, sprawls comfortably against the plush pillows, hands folded behind his head. Steven shuffles up beside him, lays on his side, weight supported against one elbow.
"Just worried about seeing Lynsey's family."
"Why?"
"If I was them, I'd blame me."
"Like you should 'ave protected her?" Steven asks and he gets it and Brendan could kiss him.
"Yeah, I wouldn't be surprised if they did."
"No offence Brendan but you're not exactly normal; not a lot of people think like you do," Steven says plainly, just blurts it out and Brendan scoffs an offended laugh.
"Well, you clearly do."
"Yeah but I'm not normal either."
"You really ain't," he says fondly and Steven blushes, looks away and fiddles with his bottom lip in a way Brendan finds absolutely endearing. "I know one person who will, though. The man hates my guts."
"Who's that?"
"Eoghan. Lynsey's brother."
"What did you do to him?"
"I - wait - " he sputters. "You instantly jump to the conclusion that I did something to him?"
"Pretty much, yeah." Steven's face is a picture of blatant cognizance.
"We had a thing," Brendan says quietly.
Steven rolls his eyes. "Right. A thing?"
"I might have slept with him."
"Might 'ave? You didn't notice for sure? Can't 'ave been that good, then," he says with an ever-so-slightly haughty little curl to his top lip and Brendan laughs out loud, wants to go on laughing and just exist with Steven in this loose moment of humour and warmth pretty much for the rest of his life.
There's no darkness here and Steven's perfectly relaxed and he wonders - dangerous thoughts, terrifying, so-close what-ifs, a hair's breadth within reach, Cheryl's words ringing in his ears like something hopeful and toxic.
"It wasn't," he says with a wink that gets Steven's smiling. "I was, typically and inevitably, a bastard. So now he can't stand me."
"Oops. Probably shouldn't 'ave gone there with your best mate's brother. Or - your surrogate sister's brother - errr."
"Shut up," Brendan scoffs and kicks at him with his knee.
Steven shoves him back and sprawls across the bed on his front, folds his arms to rest his chin against.
"When was the last time you saw him?"
"Lot of years ago. He's a grudgy type, though. Could never let anything go. I mean, granted - I did nearly break his hand."
"Oh, is that all? Wonder why he an't gotten over that, yet," Steven drawls, lazy sarcasm.
It's so powerful how he doesn't recoil, doesn't leave and get as far away from Brendan as humanly possible. It's intense and dizzying that Brendan knows he can just say stuff like that and not have to worry for one second about Steven running.
"I probably owe him an apology," Brendan says dryly. "He is a twat, though."
"Brendan!" Steven scoffs through a choking laugh. "You can't say things like that about Lysney's brother just before her wake."
"He is, though! Lysney thought so, too. She was just too nice to say it."
"Doesn't mean you get to break his hand."
"Almost. I almost broke his hand," Brendan corrects and Steven raises an eyebrow. "Yeah, okay. I know. Thanks Jiminy Cricket."
"A conscience is that still, small voice that people won't listen to. That's just the trouble with the world today - " Steven quotes at him, does the voice and everything.
"Are you my conscience?" Brendan asks, high and in a silly accent.
"Who me?"
"Okay, that's just sad."
"Leah went through about three months where we had to 'ave that film on every day."
"Yeah? Padraig went through the same phase. I hated it, he couldn't have been obsessed with The Lion King or something. I mean that's a Disney film."
"Lucas' favourite. Good choice," Steven nods approvingly. "Aladdin was mine as a kid."
"That why you enjoy stealing shit so much?"
"Oi!" Steven shoves him again, this time with his elbow right in his side. "I'll 'ave you know I don't do stuff like that anymore. Last thing I stole was - " He stops, scoffs a bit and buries his head into his arms to suffocate his laughter. Brendan has to poke him and ask what before he'll come up for air, face flushed pink. "Last thing I stole was eighty grand off you."
Brendan gawps at him and then suddenly he's laughing so hard he can't breathe. He curls up on his side, right against Steven's body, and just lets it wash over him. Everything, them, their past, the things they've done to each other. The weight of it lessens, becomes insubstantial and less smothering. Brendan can't operate under the assumption that Steven doesn't know him. He can't go on treating Steven like a fragile victim when he can reduce Brendan to a wreck with a kiss and a con.
They lean against each other, giddy with hysterics, and Steven chokes out a really insincere sounding sorry about that by the way and Brendan gives him the finger and muses, "I should call the police you fraudulent little bastard."
"You wouldn't dare; you're practically a serial killer."
"You got no proof."
"Nah, all in here," he says and taps his temple. "Suppose that's where it'll 'ave to stay."
"You don't think justice should be served and all that crap?"
Steven considers him meaningfully. "I think it already has been."
Brendan chuffs a breath through his nose. "Yeah?"
"Yeah but like I said, you and me aren't exactly normal. I wouldn't put too much into my opinion if I were you."
"Yours is one of the only ones that matters to me, Steven," he says softly and Steven raises an eyebrow, quirks his lip at the corner.
"Yeah, well - same."
"Okay then, will you do somethin' for me?"
"What?"
Brendan reaches across the small gap between them and takes Steven's scabbed thumb in his hand. "Stop pickin' at yourself. It's making me feel ill."
"I don't even realise I'm doin' it." Steven frowns and Brendan runs the pad of his thumb over the raised, scratchy skin.
"That mean I gotta keep an even closer eye on you?"
"That even possible?"
Brendan breathes a laugh and rolls back onto his back, spreads one arm out across the pillows over Steven's folded arms, light and brushing touch. He feels lazy and content and used but in a good way, like he's wrung dry of tension after a good run.
Steven smiles and blinks slowly, sleepy and peaceful. Brendan watches him and lets the silence fall like light snow, fresh and melting and shimmering perfect. He feels his own eyelids get heavy and pull against him, feels himself sink like hot lead into the mattress. The warmth from Steven's body soaks against his side and he's a real, solid presence; Brendan can see and smell and touch him, can hear his deep and rhythmic breathing even out and watch the blue of his eyes disappear behind fluttering lashes.
It's all he needs, all he's needed for days, simple as anything.
He drifts, slow and pleasant. There's no anxiety, no jerking awake when he starts to go under. It's easy. Dreamless.
He wakes to a hand against his neck and a soft voice.
He doesn't jolt, he's not concerned or afraid. His body remembers going to sleep in warmth and safety and he knows there's no reason to panic.
"Bren - " Steven's voice, creeping through his fuzzy edges. Steven's hand, touching him delicately.
He opens his eyes.
Steven's sat cross-legged next to him, half leaning across his body with his knees pressed against Brendan's arm, so close and so focused. Brendan raises a lazy hand to take Steven's scarred wrist and pull it around and to his lips. He kisses across the sore, puckered skin, feels it rough against his mouth, and watches Steven's throat dip and wants to kiss that as well. It's easy to want so much in that safe, fuzzy place between waking and sleep, when the rest of the world is locked out on the other side of his hotel room door.
Steven spreads his fingers across Brendan's cheek, strokes his thumb so slowly under his eye. Brendan catches his gaze and can't look away and he touches the back of Steven's hand, strokes trailing fingers across his skin and presses lips against his pulse. Air and time and space stretches and contracts between them, defies physics the way the very atmosphere changes to fit around them, moulds itself to accommodate their density. How can he fight this? How can he fight gravity itself? He's not so sure he wants to keep trying, anymore.
"What time is it?" he asks roughly and Steven takes his hand back slowly.
"Nearly five."
"You sleep all that time?"
"Just woke up."
"Miracles do happen."
Steven snuffs a laugh and swallows. "I should go 'ave a shower an' that. Get ready."
"Yeah, me too." He levers up onto his elbows and watches Steven shuffle off the bed reluctantly.
He gives Brendan one last look, a frown, mouth parted like he might want to say something. Brendan wants him to, wants Steven to push him, demand the things he wants, make this happen so that Brendan can give in. He wants Steven to crawl back into his arms, to hold him close and kiss him and make his toes curl. Jesus, he wants everything. So powerful the way it pulls at him, yearns in him, in his blood and bones and muscles.
Steven doesn't say a word, though. Brendan had asked him not to and Steven's sticking to it, doing it for him, holding up the weight of all that pressure on his own shoulders because Brendan had begged him to be strong. He walks out with a small wave and Brendan sits for long, stretching minutes feeling cold and bereft and weirdly proud before he can gather his wits about him enough to realise that at least he feels a fuck-load better after getting some real sleep.
He showers and dresses, suit jacket and trousers, black for mourning; that's why they're here, to mourn.
Cheryl comes to get him and she has Leah in her arms, all gussied up in her navy dress. Brendan tells her she looks very distinguished and she asks him, what does dust-english mean? and he laughs and touches her hair and says, means you look smart and she smiles, pleased as punch.
"I don't know what Ste's doin'. I knocked five minutes ago and he wasn't ready," Amy frets with her hands fidgeting at her skirt.
He thinks it's typically, perfectly maternal for her to get so stressed about her family being disorganised and yet be so solid and grounded in a genuine crisis. The more time he spends with her the more he learns her little quirks, the more he appreciates her.
"I'm bloody coming, chill out!" Steven's irate voice muffles through the door and the he appears in a whirlwind. Brendan looks him over him, doesn't often get to see Steven like this, white shirt, black suit. "Right, okay. Let's go."
Amy shakes her head at him and he pulls Lucas up into his arms and Cheryl leads them down the stairs into the lobby like a procession.
He spots Lynsey's parents straight away, greeting people in the doorway, hugs and kisses and platitudes, and Cheryl puts Leah down to take Brendan's hand. She looks at him, takes a deep breath, and he feels the pressure of their combined grief weigh in across him, almost tangible and suffocating.
"Cheryl, Brendan - " Susan takes them both in her arms, kisses Brendan on the cheek in the same way she has a million times.
"This is Ste and Amy, they're friends of ours, friends of Lynsey's. These are their wee ones, Leah and Lucas," Cheryl introduces and she shakes Steven's hand, gives Amy a warm hug, a smile for the kids, a thank you for coming. "How're you holding up?"
Steven touches Brendan, palm against his lower back and it and it startles him. He leans close and murmurs, "we're gonna go get sat down, leave you to talk."
Brendan nods, catches his hand as it slips away and gives it a squeeze. Steven smiles at him, mouths you're doing good and Brendan watches them take the six steps up to the function room until they're at the top and his gaze catches and reels on Eoghan. Eoghan looking for all the world like a different man but Brendan would recognise that familiar heat in his eyes from a mile away.
"Aren't we, Bren?" He snaps back to Cheryl. "We're here if Susan needs anything doing tomorrow before the funeral?"
"Yeah, course we are. Anything you need," he tells her genuinely and she smiles, thanks them.
They talk about Lynsey and the quiet tremble of her voice sounds like screaming to him. It becomes unbearable and he has to excuse himself, faint and shaking. They don't look at him like he's a monster. They don't look at him like he failed them. It doesn't matter, though. That's how he feels.
The function room is busy and it's a warm evening; floor to ceiling length windows span half the length of the back wall and they open out into the terrace to let in a breeze. He sweeps the room and spots them, Amy and Steven and the kids. And Eoghan.
As he approaches the table, Steven catches his eye, says, "Brendan," and Eoghan turns over his shoulder and looks him up and down in a way that makes his skin itch and burn.
"Eoghan," he says flatly.
"Brendan." Eoghan smiles, pushes out a chair beside him. "Why don't you join us?"
Like he couldn't fucking join them without Eoghan's permission, jumped up little shit. He keeps the sneer off his face when he replies, "how presumptuous of you, thank you."
"Eoghan was just tellin' us about New York," Steven says like he's trying to shift the awkwardness like it's a ten ton block of cement.
"Great place. I was gonna take Lysney there for Christmas," Eoghan tells them and he's holding up well, Brendan has to give him that. He doesn't begrudge Eoghan his grief. He can almost feel it pouring off him in waves and they share that at least.
"Yeah, she said," Brendan breathes, tries to give him something, anything but the hostility that he's clearly after. He gets it. That need to shout or fight or make a scene. "She was lookin' forward to it."
"Well I'm so glad you were there to hear that, Brendan."
"Eoghan - "
"Think I'm gonna go to the bar, care to join me?"
Steven looks at him and Brendan soaks it in briefly, gives him a small nod that he doesn't doubt Eoghan notices. He gets up, takes off his jacket and hangs it on the back of the chair, hot all over, prickling with sweat. Eoghan notices that, too. Not one damn thing has changed between them in a whole decade.
"What's your boy-toy drinking, then?"
"Don't call him that." Brendan leans against the shiny, wood surface, picks compulsively at a chip at the bar's curved edge.
"I was half-joking but my God, this mean you're out now?"
"We're not - me and Steven, we're not - "
"Ah, there's that denial. I thought that was too good to be true," Eoghan drawls, smug and fucking satisfied with himself.
"You don't know a damn thing, Eoghan."
"I know sexual tension when I see it."
"I swear to God - we can't be civil? Can't bring a bit of peace to Lysney's memory? What is your problem?" he asks, low and furious, can feel his temper fraying around the edges, tearing and ripping and desperate.
"The fact that you even have to ask me that - "
"I'm sorry, okay? I'm sorry for using you, I'm sorry for making you feel like crap, I'm sorry for nearly breaking your hand, okay? I'm sorry." It comes out in a rough rush of breath and he feels like he's losing it.
Eoghan scoffs. "Not good enough, Brendan."
"Whatever it is you want from me, Eoghan - I can't give you it."
"Nothing at all. I'm just curious to see how many other lives you've - affected - since I last had the pleasure of your company. That's some nasty bruising on young Steven's neck, isn't it?"
Brendan feels himself slip, feels the bright burn of anger lance through him and he hits his fist into the bar so hard he feels the rattle of it all up his arm.
"There he is, there's the Brendan Brady I know."
He rounds on Eoghan, out of control. "You wanna be next?"
"What did he do? Dare to fall in love with you - " and then that's it.
Brendan shoves him back, desperately strains against clenching his fist, doesn't do that, not anymore, but he needs to get Eoghan away from him, needs to get space from his accusations.
"What's goin' on!?"
Cheryl.
Brendan breathes, hard. Eoghan stares him down, absolute, glinting joy in his eyes.
"Brendan, get a grip," Cheryl whispers furiously in his ear and he pulls out of her grasping hands roughly but she grabs at him again. "Brendan - "
"Cheryl, let him go." Steven's soft voice, somewhere close by, and Brendan can't look around for him, can't see past the ringing in his head.
She does and his chest heaves. "You need to calm yourself down."
He backs away, clears a path through huddled, gawping people out of the function room and through the lobby and into the darkening evening. He collapses onto the low wall in the car park, buries his face in his hands. Shame curls up through him like tendrils of poisonous smoke, hot and nasty. Bile rises through his throat and he gulps it down, breathes through the burn. There's needles under his skin trying to hack their way out, trying to make him tear and bleed.
This bubbling, boiling hot steam comes from somewhere inside him, escapes like a geyser because there's nowhere for it to go. It burns up in a flash and leaves him feeling sickly and empty and half-dead. He tries to fill the space it hollows out but hardly anything fits. One thing. One out of the hundreds of people and substances and emotions and masks he's used to try and suppress that yearning need, that desperate crying out for comfort like a child separated from its mother.
One thing. One man.
Lynsey used to say you only get one real connection in your life, one real soulmate. Don't waste it. He'd scoffed and called her a soppy sod but now he's here at her wake and he thinks about how she never got hers. Months ago, Lynsey had died never knowing that connection.
A week ago, Steven had nearly died, too.
He feels energy seep back into him, fresh, country air restorative and calming. He stands and brushes himself down, runs a hand through his hair, and makes his was back inside and finds Cheryl with Amy, slumped with a giant half-full glass of wine on the table next to her and that's never a good thing.
"Hey."
She raises her glass to him sarcastically. "Here to make some more scenes?"
"I'm sorry, Chez. I wasn't gonna hit him, I swear." He pushes every bit of honesty into the statement and she softens. "Where is he? I need to talk to him - just talk, that's all."
"Outside. I told him he needed to cool off as well." She rolls her eyes sardonically and he appreciates her not assuming the worst, not laying all the blame on him like she might have done a few weeks ago.
It's another small thing. Another tiny weight loosened.
The terrace is a long stretch of wide path along the outside wall of the function room, surrounded on three sides by intricate, wrough-iron fences and tall autumn-turning hedges filled with a million twinkling fairy lights like tiny, glowing fireflies.
He edges out, looks around and spots Eoghan. He's stood with his back leant against the fence some hundred yards away. There's a figure at his side, leant with his hip so Brendan can't see his face but he realises with a shock that it's Steven.
"Brendan offered and me and Amy hadn't taken the kids anywhere in ages, so - "
He ducks back into the shadows at the mention of his name. Eavesdropping is beneath him but Eoghan minces words and he wants to hear what he's got to say out of Brendan's earshot.
"That was generous of him," he says and Brendan can hear the implication dripping like mud. "Beautiful family you've got, by the way. Your Amy's a pretty girl."
"Oh, me and Amy aren't together."
"Oh, I'm sorry. I just thought - "
"People think it all the time but we 'ad the kids when we were really young - I'm actually gay. Wouldn't really work out, y'know?"
Eoghan laughs. "No I suppose it wouldn't. So - " Brendan holds his breath. "How on Earth did you end up friends with someone like Brendan? I can't even imagine how you two would have met."
"I used to work for him and Cheryl at the club," Steven tells him casually. "Once you get in with the Bradys there's no gettin' out."
"You're right there," Eoghan agrees, clinks his glass against the bottle in Steven's hand. "Brendan doesn't exactly take many people to heart."
"No - well - " and there it is, the hesitation Eoghan was waiting for and he jumps on it like a cat on a cornered mouse.
"Don't tell me you've been there, as well?" The hypocrisy and blatant leading irks him. Steven's silent and still and Brendan wishes he could see his face, see if he's falling for it. "Does this mean he's out?"
"Pretty much, yeah. I don't know what you're goin' on about, though. Does Cheryl know you've shagged her brother?"
Eoghan coughs and sputters around his drink, thrown off guard into half-offended laughter by Steven's bluntness. "Does she buggery. I'm Brendan Brady's dirty little secret."
"Wow. Dramatic," Steven drawls, completely deadpan. "Well - he doesn't 'ave many secrets anymore."
"Never thought I'd see the day. So you two aren't still together?"
"Not anymore, no."
"How come? If you don't mind me askin'."
"It's complicated." He's getting pissed off and he's not even trying to hide it.
"It usually is with him. Let me give you some advice, Ste," Eoghan says, sage and filled with worldly fucking wisdom. "Brendan Brady's bad news. If I were you I'd get as far away from him as possible."
There's a lengthy silence and Brendan can feel the pressure building like something's about to erupt.
"Do you even know how many times people have said that to me?" Steven snaps, suddenly whirls off the railings into the middle of the terrace, arms thrown out to his sides. "I hear it all the bloody time. Everyone has something to say about Brendan, everyone thinks they've got him all sussed out. Stay away from him, he's evil, he's a thug, he's dangerous - "
"Ste, he is - "
"You know what, Eoghan? I know. I know he's dangerous and I know exactly what he's capable of. There's no person on this planet that knows Brendan like I do, not even his own sister, probably not even himself, and you know what?" he asks furiously and doesn't wait for an answer before he barrages on, taking Brendan's breath away with every word that comes tumbling out his mouth. "I love him anyway."
Eoghan goes completely silent and Brendan reels back against the brick, feels like he's been punched right in the gut, light-headed from no air and almost doubled over. Knowing it is one thing. Hearing Steven say it, hearing him take Eoghan's assumptions apart with his words and then reinforce everything Brendan feels the most insecure about - it's too much.
"So don't you dare assume that you can give me advice about Brendan Brady," he delivers the final blow cold like sharp ice and Brendan moves.
He half-stumbles into the light spilling from the function room. Eoghan's mouth goes slack over Steven's shoulder and he turns, eyes wide and fixed on Brendan and he can't fucking breath with what he's about to do, heart pounding against his ribs like it's trying to claw its way out and get to Steven all on its own.
"Eoghan," he grinds out hoarsely. "Piss off."
He narrows his eyes and passes by Brendan, gives him one last look of utter contempt that doesn't even touch him, not even a scratch.
Brendan steps forward, each click of his shoes against the pavement like a gong in the still silence. Steven watches him come closer, frozen like a deer caught in headlights, desperate and pleading with all his body and Brendan can't look away from him.
He raises his hands, they're shaking so badly, can hardly coordinate them, and he doesn't even know where to touch, wants to touch everywhere. He curls his fingers against Steven's hips, strokes his palms up under his jacket, feels the warm skin through the thin material of his shirt. There's inches between them and he's too scared to close it, too caught in this moment of looking and seeing and feeling, too caught in the velvet night and the burnished hedges and the soft glowing lights and the dark smudges of shadow casting over Steven's awestruck face like brushed charcoal.
"Brendan, what - "
"I got another question for you."
Steven blinks, frowns, doesn't make a move to touch Brendan back, breathes the word, "okay," like he's too afraid to speak.
Brendan licks his lips, throat dry. "Will you be with me, Steven?
"Brendan, please tell me this is for real - please - " he begs on a desperate whisper and Brendan hushes him.
"It is. I promise, it is. I love you, Steven," he says and lets the full force of it hit into both of them like a falling comet. "I love you and I can't live my life without you. Don't even wanna try, anymore."
Steven inhales like a man drowning, like he's fought and fought and finally broken the water's surface. He sways, leans into Brendan's space. "I love you, too."
Everything narrows down to this moment and he feels like he's been building up to it his whole life, like everything he's ever suffered and done and said has been preparing him for this. It's taken everything to get them here and it means everything because of it. He's caught in the weight of how much he loves, how it's so thick he can touch it, how all-consuming and huge it is. There was never any running from this, just time and careful evolution, learning and growing, the laying of a solid enough foundation to hold two crumbling souls.
He surges forward, sweeps Steven up into his arms and they move at the same time like perfectly matched clockwork pieces, Steven's arms sliding around his shoulders, hand cupping the back of Brendan's neck. He holds Steven shielded and protected and secure, will never let anyone take him away, never let anyone hurt him ever again, keep every promise and secret and precious memory.
They breathe together in the warm radiance and sweet smell of the garden and Brendan watches the lights dance like fireflies in Steven's blue eyes before he dips his head, catches Steven's lips under his own, and kisses him through the still and perfect silence.