Day 8
He's got into a routine, if you can call it that. He knows it's essential to his survival in here, that if he concentrates on anything other then the next monotonous task in front of him he'll crumble. Ste used to keep a calendar, a countdown to Christmas when he was a kid. Looking back now, he doesn't know what he was so excited about, the only thing awaiting him being Pauline lying unconscious on the sofa, Terry eyeing him over the table while eating turkey, chewing the meat, looking at Ste like he was next on the menu, like he'd rip him in half with his teeth and leave nothing but a carcass behind.
He'd cross off each day when it was over, when he was closer to the main event. He doesn't even contemplate doing that now. It would only serve as a reminder of how much time he has left in this place, the months stretched before him.
He's been on his best behaviour since the incident in Lynsey's classroom. Doug's words had the desired effect, and the idea of someone finding out about the way he'd kicked off had laid heavy in his mind, acting as a way of calming his anger whenever it has threatened to overwhelm him. He'd half expected to be marched back to the governor's office, the pleasantries of his last exchange with Tony being replaced with reprimands, and the warning that his sentence could be extended if he kept it up.
But it hasn't come, and every time that he's gone back into Lynsey's classroom she's smiled at him like nothing ever happened, like they're having tea and cake rather than her teaching a prisoner how to not get a resounding fail in his English GCSE.
Warren has found out about the classes he and Doug are doing. Ste's discovered that he can't keep a damn thing from the man, that he seems to constantly be one step away, always behind Ethan's shoulder, ready to swoop in and add a poisonous remark. He's taken to calling him rat boy, and seems to think the nickname is hilarious, throwing his head back and laughing at the joke like he's a comedian, Ethan attempting a smile next to him, but ending up with more of a grimace.
Ste can tell he hates Warren, that disgust drips from every orifice of his being. Doug's told him that after their encounters Ethan scrubs himself clean, like he's trying to get invisible dirt off his body. Once Doug had to physically stop him because the skin was red and peeling, Ethan's tears washing away in the shower. Ste wasn't sure whether he wanted to hear about this at first, didn't know whether he could take the pain, the fact that it felt like a confidence between Doug and Ethan was being broken. He gets it now though. Doug has to tell someone, has to relieve the burden of it somehow, too much for one person to bear.
Warren seems to take up an entire table with his presence, and the insults start almost immediately. "You, pass an English exam? Do you plan to sleep with the teacher, rat boy?" "You should come out with me into the gardens, do some proper work. If you actually had a bicep, I mean." The image of Warren with garden tools is both hilarious and terrifying. Ste's shocked he's even allowed near the things, surprised that a major incident hasn't occurred yet.
Ste can take the insults, can bite his lip and let them wash through him. He knows that Warren's in here for life for the murder of his fiance, that he'll most likely die here while Ste is free, walking the streets and not having to remember a single thing his smarmy face had ever said to him.
What he finds more unnerving is the constant mentions of Brendan. It comes every day without fail, like Warren's a man possessed. Usually it's when Ste's in the lunch line alone, and Doug and Ethan are out of earshot. He's sure it's not a coincidence.
He can sense Warren before he sees him, a mouth close to his ear, a body behind him. It makes him shudder.
"You and Brady getting on alright? He hasn't punched you yet, or..."
Ste never gets to find out what the or is. Warren seems to delight in it, his eyes sparkling when Ste lets his fear seep through. He desperately wants to ask Brendan what Warren's talking about. He'd expected them to be friends, but from what he can see they keep a distance from each other, and when they do interact Brendan's face turns to ice. It reminds Ste why he's here, that the man's capable of anything. But he can't help having respect for Brendan, that he's more choosy with his company than Ste would have thought.
Ste had woken up on his second day in prison expecting Brendan to at least give him an obligatory good morning, but there had been nothing. Ste had started to wonder if their conversation the night before had been something he'd fabricated. That he'd imagined Brendan opening up to him and talking about his children. When he'd looked at Brendan he'd got nothing but a frosty glance in return, making his own smile die on his lips. He'd chattered on inanely about how uncomfy the beds were, about how he didn't know if he could stomach more porridge after the day before, but he'd got nothing in return until Brendan had rubbed his eyes and told him "It's too early in the morning for this, boy."
He'd thought that perhaps Brendan wasn't a morning person. It turned out he wasn't an afternoon or evening person either, becoming even more grumpy as the day went on. His tolerance for Ste also seemed to wane, so much so that Ste's attempts to lighten the mood that had settled between them when they were lying in bed that night had been met with a resounding "Shut the fuck up, boy."
Ste wasn't exactly an expert in psychology, but even he could work out what Brendan was trying to do. Shutting down on him like that so drastically, the merest glimmer of light that had been there previously expelled. It didn't take a genius to see that Brendan was scared by what he'd revealed to him. As far as Ste could tell, Brendan operated on one level: intimidation. He didn't need to use words or actions like Warren did to get what he wanted. When he walked into a room it would go quiet, everyone trying to avoid his gaze. Ste reckoned he had been wearing the hard man tag for so long that he'd forgotten what was on the other side.
On his eighth day in prison, Ste's woken in the middle of the night. For the first few days he'd found it impossible to get to sleep, half because of the noises around him, and half because of the torment that he was going through in his mind, thinking about what he'd done, about how strange it still was to have a virtual stranger sleeping beside him, one who'd threatened to break him arm. Soon it was like a survival instinct had kicked in, like his body was forcing him to sleep, that he knew he'd be a walking zombie if he didn't.
He turns around in the bed, wondering what's woken him, and it's then that he hears it. The sound scares him at first, reminding him of Lucas when he's having a bad dream, that kind of helpless cry. Ste's about to run out of bed and down the hall to his son, when he suddenly remembers where he is. It doesn't stop the noise though, of ruffling sheets and strangled moans.
Ste gets out of bed, wide awake now, and deliberates what to do. Brendan looks like he's having a war with his bed sheet, writhing right and left, close to shouting, although most of it is unintelligible. This is worse than when his kids are like this. He knows how to make it better with them, knows that he'll be able to gather them in his arms and make them forget with a cuddle or a story. With Brendan he stands in the dark, fearing that if he touches him he'll become even more wild and scared. Brendan's made it clear that he wants nothing to do with him, but Ste can't just leave him like this.
He approaches the bed slowly, and taps Brendan lightly on the shoulder when he's still enough. He knows that's not going to do it though, not when he's in this state.
"Brendan." He whispers it, not wanting to wake anyone in the cells next to him. The thought of them hearing Brendan like this, and making fun of him...
He's a murderer. Why am I trying to protect him?
Brendan just carries on twisting and turning in the bedsheets, sweat covering his forehead, and what looks a lot like tears as well.
"Brendan!" It's a hiss now, a desperate plea to please, please hear him before anyone else does. He reaches out and puts a palm to his face, hopes the press of his skin against Brendan's will break him out of this spell.
He jumps, and Ste almost falls back against the floor, just about managing to steady himself. Before he can speak he's being slammed against the wall, his back colliding with an oomph, and he groans at the bruise that's sure to have formed by tomorrow.
"What do you think you're doing, eh?" Brendan's breath is hot in his face, and barely an inch is separating them. He's pretty sure he could count every hair on his moustache if he had to. Brendan's eyes are all black, pupils blown wide, blazing and furious, and Ste wonders if this is it, if this is where it all ends.
"Sorry, I was just trying to -"
"You think you can touch me like that, do you?"
"You were having a nightmare!"
"I don't have nightmares, Steven."
"Yeah? Well you were asleep, and you were almost screaming. It sounded like a nightmare to me." He doesn't mention the tears.
"You mouthy little..."
He closes his eyes and winces when Brendan brings his fist up to his face, and waits for the onslaught of the punch. He expects the pain to begin, for him to finally meet the real Brendan Brady that everyones been telling him about.
He chances a glance when it doesn't come, when the air is so quiet and still around him that he wonders if this is his nightmare.
Brendan's face is tensed, a vein bulging on his forehead, and Ste can feel how hot his hands are on him, the pressure there. But his fist is drawn back now, and Ste allows himself to hope that this won't end with his face being smashed in.
"If you tell anyone about this..."
"I won't, I swear."
"Ah right, I forgot. You're not a snitch."
"No, not because of that."
Brendan considers him, his hold on him slackening the smallest amount. His eyes ghost over Ste's face like he's trying to find a secret buried there, like he expects the answers to unravel before him.
"Why not then?"
A million different reasons, mostly involving Ste wanting to make it out of here alive. But there's one reason that he can't truly put into words, not in a way that wouldn't make Brendan laugh at him, or question his own moral judgement. He feels sorry for Brendan.
Ste shrugs, and lets out an involuntary shiver. It's fucking cold in here. Wherever he goes he can't escape from it, can't find warmth no matter how hard he tries.
"Look, can I just get back to bed please?" It's less of a question and more of a demand, but Brendan doesn't attack him for it, instead moving into his own bed again. Ste shuts his eyes tightly, almost wishes he'd never bothered to wake Brendan, not if this is the thanks he gets. He's just grateful that he hasn't got a mark anywhere that's visible. He doesn't need the guys knowing he's a soft touch, although he's pretty sure that the only reason they're leaving him alone is because he's friends with Ethan.
They lie in silence for ten minutes, and Ste wonders if Brendan's gone to sleep. He's almost dozing off again when he hears him.
"It was just..." It's soft, almost tentative. He hasn't spoken like this since they talked about his kids on Ste's first night here. "I wasn't having a nightmare. It was just stupid stuff. Giant bugs trying to get me, you know?" Brendan laughs, loud and hollow, eventually stopping when Ste doesn't share the joke.
Ste's had nightmares like that himself before, and they sure as hell haven't been about insects or the standard being chased by someone. He's usually younger in them, sixteen or seventeen, and he seems to have lost the feeling in his limbs, so weak that he can barely stand. He's being manhandled, thrown into corners or pinned against the sofa by Terry, and the punches are so real that he can almost feel them. Amy used to have to shake him awake, hold him till the tears stopped and he was calm enough to breathe normally again.
Perhaps Brendan thinks he's an idiot, that even though he's ended up in here, he still doesn't have a clue about the real world. Ste understands the need to feed him some lie. It's strange how it's easier to pretend that he's scared of something silly and insubstantial rather than something real, and Ste's willing to keep up the falsehood if he is, but part of him is already searching for that Brendan from seven days ago, who told him something that was honest.
"Did you hear me?" Brendan asks through the darkness, and Ste can hear the urgency in his voice, his need for Ste to believe him.
"Yeah. We all have those kinds of dreams, don't we?"
Brendan grunts, a satisfaction of sorts, and Ste hears him turn over on his pillow, discussion clearly closed whether he wants it to be or not. Ste strokes his back, imagining the purple bruise that'll be there in the daylight.
"Sorry for slamming you against a wall by the way," he mutters acidly.
"No problem, you're forgiven," Brendan replies, voice already muffled, sleep beginning to take hold of him.
Ste is increasingly realising that he has a problem. A very big, long golden haired Simon Walker shaped problem.
To put it politely, he's almost certain that Simon fancies him.
To put it crudely, he's almost certain that Simon wants to suck his cock.
On day eight Ste's starting to think he may have to put a restraining order out against him, although he's not sure if those even apply in here. He has to do something though. It's getting difficult to come up with excuses as to why he has to leave a room, not exactly having I'm going shopping or I've got to go home now at his disposal.
At first he thought he was imagining the older man's attentions, thought that surely someone in this place had to be straight. God knows he'd seen Walker eyeing up the female staff often enough, bringing to mind a dog with its tongue hanging out when he was around them. Ste had heard him down the corridor.
"Give us a hand darling, won't you? It's been a long time, a man has needs..."
Some of the politer staff like Lynsey would merely shake their heads against his come ons, even laugh like they thought he was messing with them, when Ste knew he was doing anything but. The bitches of the place would swear at him, would shove his hands away fiercely and threaten to tell Tony. Ste thought this only encouraged Walker more, that he was drawn to the aggression of it all, a triumphant smirk on his face when they would turn on their heels and leave him with a slapped cheek.
He would grin at Ste if he witnessed it, would come close, croon "sweetheart," like it was his name now rather than a term of endearment, and ask if he wanted him to "sort him out."
It had been met by Ste's blunt "Excuse me?", only for Walker to pretend that this was a regular conversation that people had, and would press him further, asking him if he wanted a night with one of the "more obliging members of staff."
"You don't...you don't rape them, do you?" Ste had asked, horrified.
Waller had laughed at the top of his lungs, deep and almost musical, like Ste was a circus act on display for him.
"Oh sweetheart, no. There are certain...women in here who will do what we want, you know? Especially for a pretty face like yours."
"Er...no thanks. I'm not really into that."
"Not your type?" He'd said thoughtfully. "Want something more masculine, do you?"
Ste had blushed before he'd been able to stop himself. It was the first time anyone had ever asked him about that. He'd planned his answer in his head, I'm straight, but under Walker's gaze he found himself floundering, stuttering over his words, Walker growing even more delighted, reveling in Ste's awkwardness.
"You're adorable, really. Especially when you get all angry at me like you are now, and pout. Those lips..."
The focus on those lips and those eyes and that body was what made Ste question his earlier assessment. He was now pretty certain that Walker would fuck anything as long as it made him come.
Every time he saw Ste he couldn't resist making a comment, lowering his voice and all but gyrating against Ste's groin. He was no prude, but most of the time he had to resist the urge to pull at Walker's hair like they were in the playground, and send him flying. When he heard about Walker's black belt in martial arts, he was less keen.
This was of course the black belt that no one ever stopped hearing about. Walker had taken to joining Ste, Doug and Ethan's table in the dining room when Warren wasn't about, and every day would consist of at least one mention of that infamous prize of his, and a move to go with it. Once it had involved a fly kick that had sent a man's tray soaring through the air, the contents of his lunch ending up over the ceiling and the floor. It had taken four prison officers to wrestle them off each other, Walker winking at Ste while he was dragged off to his cell.
Doug was the first one to bring it up. A positive to their friendship was that they were honest with each other. A downside to their friendship was that they were honest with each other.
"I think Walker likes you, Ste."
"What gives you that idea?"
Doug hadn't noticed his sarcasm, or at the very least had chosen to ignore it. "He keeps on staring at your..."
"Pants?"
"Well...yes. And he keeps on making comments about your -"
"Arse?"
Doug shifted in his seat, looking disarmed that Ste was already one step ahead of the game.
"You seem alright about all this."
Ste shrugged. "Not much I can do, is there? He's harmless anyway."
Doug started coughing against the water he'd just been swallowing, his face going beetroot red. Ste slapped him on the back, not stopping until Doug shot him what Ste believed was known as a death glare.
"Harmless? Simon Walker? Are you crazy?" Doug panted, his accent even thicker when angry.
"Obviously not harmless, I mean he's in here, but -"
"No Ste, there are no buts or excuses. The guy's like some kind of vulture."
Ste couldn't help laughing at that image, but Doug didn't seem to find it so funny.
"Do you even know why he's in here?"
Ste shook his head. His mind had been so consumed with his cellmate's past that he hadn't even considered to ask about Walker's.
"He was a policeman, Ste."
A policeman? Another one? He was starting to question just how corrupt the law system really was.
"He's in here for killing a female colleague."
Ste had taken a swig of water, had felt his mouth begin to dry up. "Why?" After the things he'd seen in here so far, he wasn't even sure that question even applied anymore, but the person he was before still had to ask it, had to find some sense in all of this.
"He says she stopped his brother's dealers from being caught. His brother died, see - overdosed." Doug looked at the table, quiet suddenly.
"That's why he doesn't talk to you," Ste said, the puzzle pieces suddenly clicking into place. Whenever Walker would come over he'd pointedly ignore Doug, not even glancing over at him. It was like he didn't even exist.
"I can't blame him after what I did. But someone who killed another person the way he did..."
"Was it brutal?"
"You don't want to know the details."
He didn't press it, his desire to be able to survive in this place and live with these men outweighing his almost morbid curiosity.
Instead he kept his distance from Walker, making a quick exit from the dining room when he saw him enter, not indulging him and his teasing, even trying to train his lips to not pout, like that's something he was fucking aware of in the first place.
He thought that he'd got away with it, that Walker had decided to find a new toy to play with. He feels a sinking in his stomach when he hears Walker's footsteps approach his cell, that same smile on his face, twisting his features rather than beautifying them, making Ste instantly wary and nervous.
Brendan looks just as surprised to see him as Ste is. Since Ste had found them together on his first night, they've never both been in the cell again.
"What are you doing here?"
"As welcoming as ever, Brendan." Walker carries on smiling, like it's a permanent fixture on his face, plastered in.
"I'm busy."
Ste can't help but smile as he regards Brendan stretched on the bed, a torn copy of Hamlet blocking his face. He seems to have a thing for the classics, can quote out whole pieces of dialogue from memory alone if he's feeling in a more sociable mood. It all sounds like another language to Ste, whose only experience of Shakespeare was managing to stay awake for a quarter of the film, mainly because he thought Juliet was quite fit.
"I'm not actually after you." Brendan and Walker stare at Ste at the same time.
"You want him?" Brendan asks skeptically, and Ste can't help but be offended, irrational or not.
"It's been a while since me and Ste had a catch up," he says lightly, like they're always meeting for a good chin wag over tea and scones.
Brendan puts down his book and stares at Ste. There's that mask there again, impenetrable, not giving a single flicker of emotion away.
"You want me to leave you alone?"
"That's what I'm saying, Brendan -" Simon begins.
"I'm asking Steven." His voice is firm, but anger cuts through it, unmistakable. Ste longs to understand the cause of it, but can't think with Walker's eyes on him, unwavering.
He thinks about Doug's warning. Ste feels a kind of safety when Brendan's with him that he doesn't feel with Walker. He must be going mad from his time in here, to trust one murderer over another, the murderer who's threatened him more than once. Walker in comparison has been nothing but friendly to him. More than friendly, all but giving Ste a marriage proposal and a permanent bed to sleep in, a warm body beside him.
He knows the one he'd rather hand over his life to though.
"It's okay, Brendan," he replies, nodding his consent.
Brendan's expression is still hard and cold, and Ste has to look away from the intensity of it, of the unnerving feeling that Brendan's trying to get him to change his mind.
Walker stands to one side to let him pass, but even with the distance Brendan still shoves into his shoulder when he leaves the cell, and Walker smirks.
"Your cellmate's so touchy."
"He's not that bad."
"Careful Ste, you're starting to sound defensive."
Ste sighs, knows he's in for another conversation full of Walker's teasing and innuendos. It takes a certain amount of energy that he doesn't have right now.
"That pout..." Walker begins, tongue darting out from between his lips, eyes hooded.
"Will you stop going on about that! I can't control my mouth, can I?"
He stares at Walker fearfully for a moment, regretting his foolish outburst, remembering who he's dealing with here as all humour vanishes from Walker's face. After a moment the older man tips his head back and laughs, and Ste doesn't know what he finds more terrifying.
"You and that temper of yours. Has anyone ever told you that your accent is really quite adorable?"
Ste crinkles his nose. "Not really..." he trails off, remembering Brendan's straight from the gutter comment.
"Well a guy like you should be told that. And often."
Ste doesn't know what to say to that, has never had so many compliments fired at him. He thinks that perhaps he should feel grateful that he's not being beaten up, but he wishes Brendan were back in the cell, quoting Hamlet, even telling him off for breathing too loudly like he's prone to do.
"There's no need to move away from me, Ste."
He hadn't even realised he was doing it, that he's unconsciously shuffling back further onto his bed and away from Walker.
"I'm not going to hurt you."
That's debatable, but Ste doesn't reply, thinks that anything he says at this point will only be used against him, twisted into something else entirely by Walker.
"Can I sit down?" Walker gestures to the foot of Ste's bed, and Ste nods reluctantly, biting his tongue and stopping himself from saying there's a perfectly good spare bed over there.
"You've been very quiet these past few days," Walker continues, and there's an edge to his voice that's unmistakable.
"Er...yeah, sorry. Just been busy, haven't I?"
"Usually I wouldn't give a fuck, but there's something about you."
Ste swallows, doesn't know what to do with such honesty.
"Is there?" He says, and it comes out like a squeak.
Walker laughs. "Come on now Ste, don't be coy. You know there is."
I don't. I really, really don't.
"You must know the effect you have on people?"
He has to speak up, has to stop this conversation going where he thinks it's heading.
"Look Walker -"
"Simon."
"Look Simon, I'm really not looking for any...trouble. I just want to get on with the next few months, keep my head down."
"Sounds like a pretty dull existence, darling."
Ste can't help his anger from boiling over at that, any thoughts of shyness momentarily forgotten. "I'm not darling, or sweetheart, or -"
Walker smiles again, and Ste realises he's just given him exactly what he wants, that he's feeding this game of his.
"That's more like it. I enjoy it when you're feisty. It suits you."
Ste crosses his arms, knows that it's immature to be in a sulk at twenty three, but can't help it around this man. He's so fucking infuriating.
"It'll also bode well for me when you're in my bed."
Ste blinks, wonders whether he's started to hallucinate sentences.
"You what?" He barks out, wouldn't be surprised if the entire prison heard him.
"I like vocal men, Ste."
"No, I mean - what was the first part? Me being in your bed?" He's flustered, and almost doesn't want to ask, wants to pretend that this entire conversation has never happened, but Walker isn't the kind who'll let him forget.
"Ah yes," Walker says casually, and Ste wonders how many times he's done this, gone to someone's cell and introduced the idea of having sex with them like it's a topic of regular discussion. "I'd like us to sleep together." He pauses, looks at Ste for a second then rolls his eyes. "Honestly, there's no need to look so shocked, Ste. You must have known that I'd planned this since I met you."
Ste gawps, wonders how he has the fucking nerve to say these things to him. A plan, a plan like Ste's been a pawn all this time, a means to an end, no free will of his own. He already feels like all his freedoms been taken away from him in here. The last thing he wants is someone else in his life making decisions for him. He's never going to let someone do what Warren is to Ethan.
"I've got to admit, I was expecting a slightly happier reaction..."
Ste doesn't bother to hide his disgust. "So let me get this straight -" He breaks off to roll his eyes at Walker's juvenile giggling. "You want to...sleep with me - and I don't have any say in this?"
It's Walker turn to look disgusted. "What do you think I am, some kind of rapist?"
Ste stares at him, not quite sure what he is.
"I'm here to discuss the terms of a contract Ste, not to jump on you and force you to do something you don't want to. I like my lovers to want me back. I'm strange like that."
Ste's anger doesn't die down, only rekindles and lights up like a flame. "Contract? So I'm supposed to sign away my body and my rights now, am I?"
Walker strokes his forehead, closing his eyes for a moment. When he speaks it's low, his exhaustion showing through. "You're beautiful sweetheart, but you do give me a headache. Can't you just listen for one second? There's plenty of time to shout when you're lying under me."
Ste doesn't even bother arguing back anymore, knows that it's a lost cause, that he may as well be banging his head against a brick wall.
"I call it a contract because there are certain things that we need to agree on, if you decide you can comply with the terms. The fact that you think I'm some kind of sex offender is quite frankly insulting, but I'll forgive you because of your youth, which I intend on taking full advantage of, believe me. You're the most flexible thing I've ever seen. You also seem completely unaware of your own sexuality, which is...well, endearing, just like the rest of you. I'll have fun showing you exactly who you are."
"I know who I am, Simon," Ste speaks between gritted teeth.
"Do you, though? From what I can tell you don't have much of a clue. If you did then you'd understand exactly the way people see you, the way I see you. Let me have a shot at guessing how your life was before you came here, Ste. You had a girlfriend, right?"
Ste pictures Rae, her long blonde hair, the nights he'd spent over at her place before they'd split up, the feel of her body, warm and accommodating under his.
"I've been there, trust me. They fulfill certain needs, don't they? Until they start nagging you to buy a place of your own or spend more money on them. I'm not going to ask you for that, Ste."
"That's handy isn't it, seeing as how we can't exactly buy our own mansion in here. And sorry Simon, but you won't be getting any roses off me."
Walker's lips quirk up. "Have you ever been with a man before, Ste?"
Ste stands up quickly from his bed, grabs Walker's arm and tries to drag him to the door.
"That's it, that's enough, end of conversation."
"Ooh, did I strike a nerve there?" He looks like the cat thats got the cream, and Ste has the desire to mess up those sculptured cheekbones of his.
"You can't ask me personal things like that."
"I'm not asking for positions and whether you rimmed a guy. Just whether you've ever tested the waters."
"It's none of your bloody business!" Ste says fiercely, Walker's body unmovable, even under his harshest grip.
"See it actually is, baby. If we're going to be sleeping together then I need to know if you're a novice or if we can get right to the good stuff, if you know what I mean."
"Do you ask all prisoners this kind of thing?" Ste asks, heat rising to his cheeks.
"Only the cute ones."
"Well here's my answer to your contract - I'm not signing it. And we're not going to be sleeping together."
Walker gets himself out of Ste's grip, shrugging him off so hard that Ste almost buckles.
"Is there someone else? Please don't say you're turning this into a melodramatic love triangle," he says wryly.
"Yes Walker, there is someone else. His name's Doug, we're a couple."
"Sarcasm only entertains me so much before it gets very boring, darling."
"No, there's no one!" Ste sighs, admitting defeat and sitting back on his bed, not particularly wanting to go back up against Walker and his years of martial arts. "I'm not gay."
"Neither am I."
"Well I'm not - I'm not bi, either."
"Say that with a bit more conviction, please."
Ste groans, wondering if Walker would even let him past right now if he tried to make his escape.
"What do you want from me?"
"I want you to say the truth, Ste. That's all."
"Fine." Ste takes a deep intake of breath, barely knowing what's about to come out of his mouth before he speaks the words. "Maybe I'm not completely...straight."
Walker stills, seemingly satisfied by this. "Go on."
"Maybe I've had...thoughts." Thoughts which have ended with someone being balls deep in me.
"Thoughts about me? You're only human."
Ste doesn't share the joke, looking down at his hands, biting his nails nervously. He's never talked about this with anyone before. It feels like he's betraying someone just by saying it, the old version of himself who he thought he knew.
"It's probably just a phase, isn't it?" He says, more to himself than to Walker.
"Ah yes, we all have those phases."
"Do we?" Ste asks hopefully.
"Of course. A bit like an obsession with Pokemon or scooters. Every man wakes up one day and thinks "I'd quite like to suck that guy's cock." Perfectly natural rite of passage."
Ste aims his pillow squarely at Walker's head, and he ducks, laughing.
"It's nothing to be ashamed of, you know. Who's going to judge you for it in here?"
"Er, everyone?" Ste answers like it's obvious.
"Not with me around you they won't. The boys I've been with have been treated like Gods in this place."
"Oh right, so I'm just one in a long list of many?"
Walker smiles at him fondly. "Not jealous already, are you?"
"Don't be daft."
"If it helps, you're by far the most gorgeous man I've ever seen."
"How many times have you said that before, eh?"
"You need to learn how to accept a compliment, Ste."
And you need to learn how not to come into someones cell and casually propose some kind of twisted sex contract.
"So, do I have my answer?" Walker continues, staring at Ste intently, and Ste can see the desperate hope there.
"Simon, I..." No, basically.
"Look, don't make any rash decisions now. Sleep on it. I'll give you a week. Just don't disappear on me again, okay? I missed that peachy little arse of yours."
"Right..." Ste says, speechless.
Ste sees a shadow behind Walker, his eyes drinking in the sight of Brendan leaning against the door frame, arms crossed, eyes on the floor. It's not like him not to stare at someone until they're the first to look away. Brendan doesn't just blend into the background, and even when he tries he's still the thing that Ste's eyes are locked to, the energy that settles around him drawing him in.
"Saved by the tache man," Walker says, turning to Brendan, and Ste wishes he could read the expression on his face. Every time he thinks he's worked out their relationship, it seems to morph into something else.
"Hope I gave you ladies enough private time."
"You did. We had an interesting conversation."
"I can only begin to imagine," Brendan replies, chewing his gum loudly. He looks at Ste for the first time then, and Ste sees his eyes travel over his body. He has the strongest thought that he's scanning for bruises.
"It was a pleasure to talk to you like always, Ste. Think about what I said, yes?"
Ste nods, already knowing what the answer is, but the possibility of Walker staying away from him for a week is enough for him to comply and pretend he's seriously considering his proposition.
When Walker's gone Ste stares at Brendan expectantly, waiting for him to make some kind of comment, any acknowledgment of what's just gone on here. Brendan merely collapses on the bed and picks up his book like nothings even happened.
Ste hadn't planned on saying anything to anyone. The idea of even telling Doug seemed crazy, but now the desire to tell Brendan is like an itch that he has to scratch.
"You'll never guess what Walker just said to me -"
"He wants to have sex with you. Big fucking deal. Now be quiet won't you boy, I'm busy here."