Seeing Steven again is a relief he could have never anticipated. These past 10 days of Steven being locked away unnaturally have been torturously painful. Brendan's run it all over in his head day in day out… what's Steven doing? Who's he talking to? Is he happy? Is he struggling? Has he found peace? Is he working hard? Does he miss Brendan? Does he miss Andy? Will he ever want to see Brendan, after this?
Brendan had called the rehab on several occasions, only to receive some of the vaguest of breakdowns: "Ste's on a maintenance dose today, he will be attending a group therapy session in the afternoon and an outdoor work-out in the evening. His eating has improved, and he seems to be calm enough. Couple of relapses, but nothing drastic of yet."
All this is very well and good, but not the information Brendan is after. He wants to hear Steven's voice. He wants to look into Steven's eyes and see that there's some kind of sparkle there, not the blank routinely compliance he witnessed when leaving Steven there seven days ago.
When he finally sets eyes on him, on the tenth day, it's like his muscles melt to rubber. He had planned to give Steven his space, respect that he's having 'thinking time' and behave with the nonchalance Steven might require of him. Instead, he can't help himself. He throws his arms around Steven, because it looks so much like he needs to be held. And no, there's no happy sparkle in Steven's eye. Instead there are tears – and a lot of them – and it feels like Steven completely deflates in his embrace; finally letting out all the torture and turmoil of the past three years.
Brendan just holds him and rocks him. It doesn't feel like enough, but Steven's grip is tight on him and he knows he mustn't stop. A pitiful meek rain starts, and Steven barely even registers it. By the end of the three hours they're soaked through to the skin and Steven must be freezing. But he's taken inside before Brendan can even tell him to have a bath, or say a decent goodbye for that matter.
After all the holding and crying, they'd exchanged just a few coherent sentences.
"Will you come back next time?"
"Course I will, Steven. I'm not going anywhere. Are you… D'you want me to come back?"
"Yeah." Steven nodded. No pretence, façade or pride.
"I'll be here. Eight more days, that's all it is."
"Yeah." Steven's voice shakes, like that daunts him. Brendan hasn't even asked him what it's like in here, and how he's holding up. He never gets the chance to ask whether Steven can take another eight days of isolation, or whether he wants to come home immediately.
So when Cheryl asks him through reluctant pursed lips, "How is he then?", Brendan doesn't really have an answer.
He shrugs his shoulders and mutters half-heartedly, "Steven's tough. He's okay."
"And I take it he's back in your life for good now, then?"
"Yes."
He doesn't miss the roll of Cheryl's eyes.
"He needs me, Chez."
"He needs your wallet."
"No, shut up with that; you know that's not true! C'mon what's wrong with ye?" Brendan tuts irritably.
"Ste is a different person now, Brendan! And I'm sorry, but I don't get why he hated you one minute and now… what… he's in love with you again?!"
"It's complicated."
"Yeah, it always is." She sighs.
"Yeah it is, so back off, yeah?"
"I just…" Cheryl stutters, trails off, shrugs… as if deciding it's useless.
"What?"
"Nothing."
"No c'mon," Brendan says, "Say it."
"Are you two gonna be going round in these circles for the rest of your lives?! It's… it's exhausting! It's exhausting for me and I'm not even involved!" Cheryl cries, "This is what happens with you two. It's all just… anger and torment and you both end up going crazy with it and I just…"
"What?"
"I just wonder when you're finally gonna call it a day." She sighs.
"You know that's not gonna happen."
"I know," Cheryl relents, worn out. "And I know you're probably just as bad as each other but… you're my brother, and I want you to be happy."
"I will be."
"When he is?"
Brendan nods. That's exactly right. The very idea that he could even make Steven smile again it… it's more than he can bring himself to imagine right now, but it's what he'll strive for.
The very idea of himself being happy… well that's hard to imagine as well right now. He was at the lowest pit of self-hate and despair those three years he was left inside… labelled a sex-abuser. Hardly spoke to anyone; couldn't even summon the energy to move his lips. Imagining every night that Steven was happy in the arms of another man, and absurd phrases coming from his hypothetical lips; "I 'ad a lucky escape from Brendan, eh?!". He tortured himself with it.
Every time he was told that 'Steven Hay' had requested visiting rights, it became harder and harder and harder to deny him. But he knew he had to. Knew he was doing the right thing… setting him free. Tossing away lousy one-night-stands and coming to the realisation that his life was doomed from here-on-out because he'd let Steven go. But knowing that he was doing what was best for Steven… releasing him from the day-by-day contamination that Brendan was selfish enough to enforce on him.
But he can't think about that now.
Eight more days… just eight more days and then Brendan can visit him again. The doctors said that if Steven's on schedule then he should be off the maintenance dose by then, and they want to increase his weight by five pounds. They talk about him as if he's a machine in need of fixing. A project… a play-toy to scrub up and tidy until he's deemed a 'normal' human again.
They talk about him like he's damaged goods. Like he's Brendan.
XOXOXOXOXOX
The second time the window smashes, Brendan is ready for it because he hardly sleeps at all at the moment. Good fucking thing as well, because this time it's a firework. Steven was right about the brick being just a 'warning'. This shit will surely get worse.
Brendan lobs the thing as far as he can away from the flat, hoping it might catch Andy and his coward cronies as they speed away. Instead it fires and explodes in the middle of the empty street, rocketing into the sky with a bang that's sure to awake the rich sleepers in their fancy flats.
Brendan exhales a breath, feeling his heart hammer with the adrenaline.
"Cunts." He mutters.
Cunts, because as far as Andy knows, Steven is sleeping here. Isn't he supposed to care about him? As in… not want him to explode or burn to death?
"Someone's not a fan of you!" The glass-repairer remarks cheerily when he arrives. He'd been like this last time as well – nattering on with a happy-go-lucky smile on his face, before his words had faded out feebly, drowned in the tension of Ste and Brendan's silence.
"Hm." Brendan grunts unhelpfully. He stands with his arms folded, watching the man work and enjoying how he cripples slightly under the pressure of being so closely scrutinised.
"You called the police?"
"Not a fan of 'em."
"It's a proper criminal offence this!" The repairman points out, ever the shrewd observer. "Probably just kids messin' about though, was it?"
"Somethin' like that."
"They're gettin' worse – kids. Little scallies with nowt better to do."
"Uh-huh." Brendan drones, bored. "Don't worry, mate. They'll learn."
XOXOXOXOXOX
"Amy. Hi. Long time no speak."
Brendan pauses… listens to the silence of the answering machine… finds himself unable to word exactly what he needs to say. Doesn't even know why he called – stupid idea – this probably isn't even her number anymore.
"Urm, yeah so… quick catch-up… just bringing you up to date, you know how I like to do that."
He laughs shortly to ease the tension of the silence over the phone. Amy may as well be there, cos he's pretty sure this is the exact same reception he'd get if she was.
"So, Steven's in rehab." He says, with forced lightness. "Got more needle pricks on his arms than freckles at the moment. Just errr…. thought you should know. Don't know where ye are. Maybe, I don't know, he might wanna see his kids? Just a thought."
The lingering silence on the other end of the line continues.
It stirs something in him.
Because this is fucking typical. This is exactly it, isn't it? This is what Steven's been receiving from his so-called friends over the last three years. Silence, rejection, abandonment.
"Maybe you can take one day off swannin' around on a beach to cut the lad a break?! The guy that raised yer daughter like his own – you remember him?!"
The line cuts dead. He's run out of time.
Probably just as well.
He slams the phone heavily against the countertop and takes a deep breath. This is useless. What was the point in calling Amy anyway, when he doesn't even know what happened between her and Steven? He's just trying to do something, anything that might be in any way useful, whilst Steven's trapped behind the doors of rehabilitation. He just wants to help. To repair his own damage.
It's ridiculous, but he turns up at the rehabilitation on the eighteenth day, arms filled with presents. THAT is his final desperate method of helping.
He knows as he approaches the steps how this is going to go down. Steven won't accept the gifts. He'll think this is Brendan trying to buy his forgiveness. That's not the case though – truth is he was just going crazy all alone at home… had to do something.
He gets strange looks off the other visitors when he sits at the reception, arms filled with gift-wrapped shopping bags. He's bought clothes, CD's, a nice watch, some action-packed X-Box games, cookery books and a bunch of novelty kitchen-wear like a stupid comedic apron and funny-shaped salt-and-pepper shakers. All utter shit. All stuff that'll mean nothing to Steven anymore.
The patients start to come into the reception area and greet their loved ones with hugs or awkward hand-shakes.
Brendan becomes twitchy and nervous the longer time drags on. His foot taps insistently fast against the ground. Last time Steven had been sat on the steps outside, already waiting for him. Where is he now?!
The reception clears. Patients and their families wonder off to enjoy their heart-to-hearts and updates. And Brendan's left alone. Alone with his bags of crap.
And time drags on and on, and he knows Steven's not coming. Not now or ever.
He kicks a gift-bag, hard. The guitar-shaped frying pan falls from the bag and crashes against the wall.
Steven's given up on him. Come to his senses. Cried himself dry last time, and that's all he needed – it's out of his system and he's moving on, and worst thing is Brendan knows he's every bloody right to.
He shoves the presents on top of the reception desk – leaves them there in case Steven wants them, and walks back to his car.
His chest physically hurts, it's that painful.
And he wonders if this is only an ounce of what Steven felt… when Brendan rejected him in the exact same way time and time again when he was in prison.
"Fuck!" He hisses to himself, teeth grit, eyes stinging with the urge not to cry. Brendan fucking Brady, crying like a discarded love-struck fool at the wheel of his car. Given a taste of his own medicine, and can't fucking take it. Fucking pathetic. Fucking waste of fucking space. And he's fucked it – for good. Ruined everything that was ever good in his life.
It takes him some time to acknowledge the small tapping at the car window.
A woman looks timidly in at him, her ginger hair pulled back in a tight, professional-looking bun. She's one of the staff here. Her name-badge reads 'FIONA'.
"What?" Brendan grunts through the half wound-down window.
"Are you Brendan Brady?"
"Yeah."
"You're here to see Ste, aren't you?"
There's that pain in his chest again.
"Yeah."
Fiona bites her lip, "I'm sorry – someone should have told you."
"Told me what?"
"There was an incident last night, and Ste had to be put on a mild sedation drug. He's resting today."
Brendan swallows, his head adjusting to this news. "What? What sort of incident?"
"Nothing you need to worry too much about right now, but you should have been called. He's got a meeting arranged with an external therapist today. There's been some concern about his-"
"What do ye mean, external therapist?!" Brendan demands, "No! He's seein' me today!"
"Well, his supervisor wasn't sure that's a good idea."
"Hey," Brendan seethes, and climbs from the car, forcing Fiona to backtrack nervously, "This ain't a fuckin' jail. Today's visiting day – so I'm visiting him."
"He might not even be awake…"
"I don't care."
Fiona blinks, hesitating. She seems not to know what to do. Just what the fuck is happening here? Brendan feels like he's centre of some conspiracy… like all the Gods in the world are ensuring he and Steven can't coincide in the same universe. Well fuck that. Fuck them all. They can poke and prod Steven like he's some freak, but he's not, and Brendan will remind him, because God knows it's easy to become a freak when you're treated as one. Brendan knows that better than anyone.
In the end they let him in because they can't stop him.
Steven's not in the same bedroom as he was put in on induction day. This bedroom is smaller, and more basic with just a single bed. The views are still as beautiful, but Brendan can't help but feel this is some form of punishment for him. And God knows he didn't pay for him to come here so he could be treated like this.
He's fast asleep and for a few moments Brendan's content to just watch him… to see that he's breathing, at rest, at peace.
But as the minutes stretch on, he can't help himself. He traces his fingers along the line of Steven's hair where it hangs overgrown upon his forehead. He sketches through his hairline to the shaven sides, also mostly grown out from lack of care. He looks good like this. Unkempt, yes… but the look works on him.
Brendan takes in every bit of him. His plump cracked lips open slightly in his sleep. His fists curled around the bedcovers, bringing them right up to his chin. His long eyelashes… now flickering open.
"Brendan," He whispers sleepily.
"Yer late for visiting day." Brendan says plainly.
Steven blinks slowly, adjusts to the light.
"You okay?" Brendan asks.
"Yeah." Steven breaks into the smallest of smiles. "I forgot you were comin'."
"Yeah, it almost slipped my mind too." Brendan retorts, with a smirk to let Steven know he's lying. He wouldn't forget for a second. "You gotten in some kinda trouble?"
"You know me." A mirrored smirk.
"Showin' 'em who's boss, I hope."
"I've got you to do that for me now, haven't I?"
Brendan smiles, but Steven's comment strikes a nerve in him. He doesn't like this setup. Doesn't like the concern that was on Fiona's face when she'd suggested Steven needed a 'therapist'. Doesn't like him being pushed around.
"Ye need me to do somethin'?" Brendan asks, "You want me to talk to someone? Are… are you happy here?"
Steven frowns at Brendan's concern. States obviously, "Well I didn't come 'ere to be happy."
"No, you came here to get better." Brendan says, "And they're tellin' me there's been an incident – what does that mean?"
"Just them mouthin' off."
"Did something happen?"
Steven shrugs, his shoulders slumping tiredly.
"I don't remember." He mumbles, "I just saw red."
Brendan can relate to that sensation better than anyone. He knows what it's like for that cloud to fade and to discover you've done something terrible… irreversible… something you couldn't control in those moments of grief and hurt and anger.
"They kept pushin' me." Steven continues, "To talk. And I didn't want to."
"Uh-huh."
"I can't. I can't tell 'em what I did."
"What do you mean, what you did?"
"To Walker. I can't tell 'em. So they shouldn't ask."
Brendan swallows, hard. The subject of Walker's murder lingers heavily in the air; overpowering. Brendan knows what it's like to kill. He knows that the ghost will follow Steven wherever he goes. He won't sleep right, maybe ever again. He'll always remember the ringing of the gunshot… the steel under his fingers… feel the impact of death in the pit of his stomach.
Brendan never wanted that for Steven. Never.
"I see him every day." Steven whispers shakily, and Brendan knows he means Walker.
"I know." Brendan breathes.
Steven inhales a shaky breath, but says no more, perhaps momentarily convinced that he's not rotten and alone. Neither of their toxic secrets are secrets between them. No more needs to be said about it.
But Steven's not finished. He seems delicate – even more so perhaps in his sedated silence than when he cried the last time. But at the same time he seems to have come to a sort of resolve, and speaks with the firmness of a man who wants to get something off his chest. Needs to.
"D'you know what it felt like?" He breathes, "When I lost ya?"
Brendan shifts from his crouched position on the floor – senses he may need some more support for this – and sits at the end of Steven's bed. Steven sits up too to face him – man to man.
"It was just like everything was gone." Steven says croakily, "Like I wasn't even in the proper world anymore, you know? Cos… even back when we weren't together… even when I didn't even like ya… you were still there. You know, I'd see ya walkin' past the deli, and I knew you were there. And then… you were just nowhere. It was like you didn't exist, except I knew you did, and it were like I was the one that was trapped. Like it was just a bad dream and I couldn't get out of it."
Brendan wants to put a hand over his mouth – tell him to stop, because he can't bear to hear that he was the root of such turmoil. He can't bear to face his own betrayal and treachery, knowing he ignored Steven's desperate pleas all that time… blindly believing it to be for the best.
"And nobody got it." Steven continues. And his words are so uncharacteristically clear and well-formulated that it's clear he's been thinking this over for months… years… "They just kept tellin' me it was for the best. They didn't even wanna know how… how…"
He's breaking. Brendan wants to hold him again, but he feels that any movement might startle him to stop… and that he needs to do this. To say these things.
So when the tears start rolling down Steven's cheeks again, Brendan has to sit back – useless as always – and watch.
"…how you're the only one who I ever thought was the same as me." Steven chokes, "An' the longer you were gone… the longer everyone else kept acting the same, like nothin' was different… I just felt like a freak, and then I wanted you more than ever. And it just got worse and worse."
He wipes one of his tears away stubbornly with the back of his hand, dismissing it. He's not destroyed by the tears like he was last time – instead his voice remains strong, and the teardrops just a silent pollution. It's like he doesn't even realise or acknowledge that he's crying.
"You know like when you're thinking, and then you lose your trail of thought?" He says, staring Brendan adamantly, willing him to see, "An' you try and get it back, but it's just fuzzy, but it's still there always in the back of your mind. It were like that all the time. And I wanted to stop… stop bein' in the fuzzy bit. I just wanted to get numb and stop worryin' and stop carin'. So that's why. That's why I'm here, innit?"
"That's why you got into drugs." Brendan reinstates, more to himself than anything, and finds his voice is hardly there.
"Yeah." Steven finishes, resolute. He sniffs, uses his sleeve to wipe it. And then laughs weakly and rolls his eyes as if to retort 'what am I like, eh?!'.
It's feels typically self-deprecating of him. Self-conscious of his own downfall… even around Brendan.
And Brendan finds his voice again.
"I felt that too." He mumbles breathlessly. "The… the fuzz thing."
Steven smiles in appreciation, "Yeah, right."
He doesn't believe him.
"I felt it every day, Steven." Brendan insists, firmer this time. "Every day, I didn't…"
He sighs, grits his teeth together. He's always been fucking useless at this – this… telling Steven what he feels.
"… I never stopped thinkin' about ye." He concludes feebly.
"Amy said I was obsessed." Steven says.
It sounds like he's accusing Brendan of the same thing. With the same connotation of how Amy used it… the suggestion that obsession doesn't mean love.
Brendan opens his mouth to object, but Steven interrupts.
"I couldn't… I couldn't even breathe without ya, for a while." He says, exasperated with himself. "Like, that's not normal is it?"
"I don't know." Brendan says numbly.
"And that's why I agreed to come here. Cos you wanted me to. And cos I actually thought that… that if I came here, you might love me again."
It knocks Brendan for six.
Like his whole heart has fallen to the bottom of his gut and out of his body – rendering him speechless.
Fucking speechless – again.
WHY is he acting like such a braindead arsehole, when Steven needs him to speak up now more than ever?! Like Steven's whole life and wellbeing depends on it.
Because he's looking at Brendan now with watery eyes, filled with hate for himself and love for Brendan… love he has genuinely convinced himself to be unrequited… love he's resigned to feeling all over again, despite the destruction it did last time.
And why can't Brendan fucking SAY ANYTHING?!
Steven sniffs again, and continues on the topic of rehab, muttering; "It's not goin' very well though. I don't think they like me very mu-"
"-I do love you Steven." Brendan interrupts. Late. Too late now to find his voice… sounds like a fucking afterthought.
But he can't stop now.
"I never stopped loving you. Never. How can you even thi…?! I thought I was giving you up for your sake. I thought I was doing the right thing. Fucking Christ if I'd know anythin' about…"
He stutters – words struggling to get out of him. Fucking pull yourself together man.
"I only ever wanted you to be happy, Steven." He finishes. "That's all I ever wanted for you."
His words hang limply in the silence. Too little, too late. Fucking typical of him.
It's no wonder tears are coming from Steven's eyes again.
Brendan's let him down. Again. Will never ever be good enough for someone who needs so much more from him. These useless words and sentiments fall flat and dead when his actions only serve to rip Steven to shreds.
"I wanted to marry you, once." Steven says. For the first time, his voice is quiet and unsure. This is unrehearsed… not like his other spiels which he'd run over in his head day in day out. "I wanted to spend me whole life with you."
"Me too." Brendan says, equally quiet and vulnerable. "Really, I did."
But then he checks himself, and adds even more quietly, "….do."
Steven blinks, surprised. Tearfully startled. He looks so beautiful in his fragility that it hurts to look at him.
"What – even now?" Steven says, "When I'm like this?"
"S'gonna take a lot more than this to put me off, Steven."
Steven reviews this for a moment or two in his head. He's probably slowed down by sedation… and from warring with his heart and his head, just as Brendan always forces him to do.
He feels bad that he's forcing all this on him all over again.
Being with Steven - doing this to him - always was the most selfish option.
But then Steven's arms are around him. And suddenly Brendan has his full weight. Steven's supported in Brendan's arms – his to break or care for.
He's not sure which of those he's doing when he lifts Steven's face and kisses him – deep, passionate, penetrating. He says with his lips and tongue what he struggled so fucking much to say with his words. I love you, I always have, I always will. I will die for you. I will kill for you. I will suffer a lifetime for you. I will walk to all ends of the earth to see you smile. And for every time you can't breathe without me, I'm suffocating dead without you. And for every tear you shed over me, my insides are ripping for you. And I was a machine before I met you – was when I was without you – but you make me human. And I would give you the whole fucking world, Steven Hay.
There's no sense or logic at play when he lays Steven against the bed, and their clothes are being pulled of with the frantic need of two robots whose blood finally runs warm again. Their lips only ever part to lift shirts over heads, and there's no time to even prepare before Brendan is inside of him, and Steven is crying out with animalistic-sounding pleasure – heated, desperate, wanting gasps and moans.
Steven's legs wrap tightly around Brendan's neck, their bodies melting and syncing together as though they've never been apart. There's little notice taken to their surroundings – the unlocked door with the staff roaming outside. None of it matters when they're absorbed in each other like this.
After a while there's nothing. There's no way of knowing where Steven's body ends and Brendan's begins. It's just blurred vision and rough panting, and teeth and nails and whispered 'yes!' and 'fuck' and 'don't stop!'.
It's like they could be back in time. In the office of the now-renovated Chez Chez. On the floor of the now-sold living room in Brendan's flat. In the bedroom of Steven's council flat… now burnt to a crisp.
It's like they both unravel and come alive. Both stop being freaks when they're together like this. When they climax together, fall against each other. And Steven's arms wrap with ferocity around Brendan's neck like he daren't ever let go again. And Brendan presses firm possessive kisses to the lads neck, face, collarbone – anywhere he can touch. They're sweaty and a mess and a tangle of broken bruised limbs, but they're undoubtedly one.
And Brendan knows in this moment that he's not leaving Steven here – can't leave him alone again for another single day. He can take Steven with strops and baggage and now needles if he has to, but he can't be without him for another god damn second.
