Brendan doesn't know where he is at first. When he wakes he recognises the ceiling to belong to the cell, sees the locked door with the familiar small slit of the screen window. But something is wrong. He has a body beside him, a sleeping body, and it's curled into him, their face pressing against his shoulder. Steven.
It's a shock, waking up like this. Brendan hasn't fallen asleep with another man since Vincent, and it had felt too raw, too painful to contemplate it with anyone else after what happened. He couldn't risk someone else getting close, demanding things off him like the boy had. He knew Vincent had been fragile, but he'd had no idea he would crumble without him.
Steven is different somehow. He's not much older than Vincent, but there's a certain maturity in him, the sense that he's been through the wars, that he's not going to fall apart if Brendan pushes him away. He'd done the opposite when it had come down to it, clinging on for dear life even when Brendan had done everything in his power to make the boy repulsed by him. He still can't find any logic or rationale there, can't understand how he ended up here, a night spent in an almost peaceful slumber, no nightmares plaguing him like they usually do.
It had been easier than he'd thought to not have sex with Steven. Just having him close like this had settled him, had calmed him enough to stop the tumult from going on his head, if only for a little while.
He doesn't want to get soft though, doesn't want to let his guard down and make any stupid mistakes. He needs to make sure that the boy knows this was a one off, and that if he's not going to be fucking him then he's not going to be allowing this spooning to continue. There are plenty of other places he can go, bodies he can bend and use to his will.
It's hard to concentrate on that with Steven looking like a fallen angel beside him though. His eyelashes are long and thick and almost have a sooty quality to them, casting shadows underneath his eyes. Even after being trapped in here for ten days he still has a golden tone to his skin, and he glows, he actually glows in a way that Brendan finds impossible to conceive. His lips are full and not nearly as bee stung as Brendan would like them to be. He would have liked the boy to wake up with the prickle of his moustache evident on his mouth, lips rubbed raw from kisses.
Brendan tries to get off the bed without altering Steven. He can just imagine how that awkward conversation would go, both of them stuttering over their words in the cold light of day. But as he begins to move Steven rouses, making snuffling noises that some people would describe as cute. Brendan of course doesn't find them cute. Not at all.
Steven looks like he's having difficulty believing this just as much as Brendan is, blinking his eyes like he's dreaming. Self consciousness overcomes him, and he alternates between covering his hand over his mouth and flattening down his hair.
"I must look a proper mess," he says in embarrassment.
You look rough. Sexy.
"I'm surprised the officers haven't knocked yet."
"It's still early. That's what happens when you go to bed at eight o'clock." Brendan hasn't slept at that time since he was a child.
Steven stretches, and Brendan follows the movement, his eyes never swaying from the boy's long gangly limbs. He lets out a wide yawn.
"That was the best sleep I've had since I came here."
Brendan doesn't know how he does it, just says what's on his mind like that, so open and unashamed. He was thinking the same thing, that he can't remember the last time that he woke up feeling this warm. It should have been uncomfortable, the two of them squeezed together in the small single bed, but in the night whenever he did stir he'd felt Steven beside him, and it was a type of comfort that he last felt in another lifetime.
"Yeah well, don't get used to it." He turns his head, not wanting to see the look on Steven's face. It's important to keep a distance here. He doesn't want the boy to think he has any ownership of him.
"You hogged the cover anyway."
Brendan spins round to face him, can't bloody stop himself. "You what?"
"Kept on pulling it away from me in the night. And you made all these noises."
Brendan raises his eyebrows, wondering what these noises could have consisted of. He's sure he didn't scream out in the night, otherwise Steven would have woken him again.
"Kept on breathing really loudly." Steven's smiling. He's fucking playing with him.
"It's those little chicken arms of yours. They're not strong enough to pull the cover away." His arms aren't looking so little though, if he's honest. He's barely been able to keep his eyes off them, the way they look pretty damn capable. He'd seen for himself how strong his hands were in the cooking class, the way the boy's outer fragility contrasted with a surprising amount of robustness.
Steven pushes him for the insult, laughing. He's as light as air this morning, and Brendan's reluctant to break the spell.
When the door's opened neither of them expect it, and Steven stops laughing. Brendan half hopes to see Walker, and has to resist the urge to pull Steven closer, all but leering at him and spelling it out, you're not having him. He doesn't care if he's being childish. He knows what happens to the lads that Walker goes with. He uses them and then tosses them away like they're a piece of trash. In the past he's barely batted an eyelid, but Steven's his cellmate, he'll have to watch the whole thing from up close, every bit of pain that Walker inflicts on the boy. That's why Brendan tells himself he cares.
It's one of the guards, Darren. Brendan breathes a sigh of relief, knows that he'll have no trouble or snide comments from this guy. He's an irritant, but relatively harmless, tries to be the joker of the pack, seems to think this will get him on the right side of the men.
Brendan's sure that Darren knows he's gay. It's not cockiness, it's a simple fact that everyone in this place knows who he is, including the staff. But the lad's never caught him in this position before, and it appears to be a bit of a shock, Darren staring down at them like a rabbit in the headlights.
"Er...sorry Brendan. I was just - it's breakfast time."
He should feel lucky that he's only caught the two men in their full clothes, but his cheeks flush, and Brendan gets out of bed, uses it as the excuse he needs to stop this strange sense of intimacy that's sprung up between him and Steven. Sharing his bed may have been part of the deal, but pillow talk wasn't.
He sees Steven putting on his shoes out of the corner of his eye, and Brendan slings on his own shirt, can feel the atmosphere in the room, and can't help the prickling of shame that arises because of it. He may not be a closet case but he's not about to do a coming out dance because of it.
Steven stares at him when he's fully dressed, seems to be gauging his reaction. Brendan just nods at him, doesn't want them to have to walk down to the dining room together like they're a fucking couple. Steven moves past Darren and is led down by another guard while Brendan puts the bedding in place, the crinkling of the sheets looking strange, a reminder of the night he spent with the boy that is already beginning to feel distant.
"Another guy so soon, Brendan? You move fast."
This is the problem with Darren. His fear of Brendan means that he over compensates, that he thinks they're friends, friends who talk about this kind of thing. Brendan doesn't talk to anyone about this, would rather chew his own ear off, but the idea of laying it out with an officer makes his anger rise to the surface, makes him want to wipe that stupid smirk off Darren's face.
He goes up close, stands an inch apart from the man, and stares him down. It works every time, and Darren's all but shaking in front of him.
"What are you saying?"
"Nothing," Darren tries to dismiss, laughing nervously. "Just that you do well, don't you? The kid's only been here for like a week, and you've already got him in your bed."
Brendan narrows his eyes. "Take me down to breakfast before I do something I won't regret."
When he gets to the dining room he's surprised to see Walker sitting on their usual table. Ever since Steven's arrived he's taken to joining him, Douglas and Ethan instead, and Brendan's becoming accustomed to the quiet, to being able to eat his meals in peace without a running commentary of his martial arts achievements, or having to watch the man flirt with the guards, including Lynsey. Brendan likes her, likes the way she treats him, like he's an actual human being instead of a piece of dirt on her shoe. She's tougher than she looks, can laugh off Walker's remarks effortlessly, but it makes his skin crawl, having to listen to the lewd come ons.
"Not joining your latest prize today?" He asks, placing his tray on the table and sitting next to Walker.
"Ste? We're taking a holiday from each other." He grins in a way that suggests he's anything but upset about this, and Brendan knows him, knows he's planning something, that a man like him doesn't take no for an answer.
"How long a holiday are you talking here?" Brendan chews a bit of toast, tries to distract himself, not letting Walker catch on how this is straining him.
"Ste has another six days to decide on our contract." He says it as casually as if that's all it is, a business agreement. Brendan knows there's no such thing, not when it comes to him.
"Contract? Are you going to stop being so fucking cryptic and spit it out?"
"Spit it out...you never used to say that to me before."
"Ha ha." Being with Walker is like being surrounded by a walking, talking book of sex jokes.
"He's beautiful, isn't he?"
Brendan knows what he's talking about instantly, no need to elaborate. He makes a humming sound, doesn't trust himself to speak.
"Come on, you'd have to blind not to think so."
"Weedy fellow." It sounds blasphemous, not entire untrue but wrong nonetheless. Steven deserves more than that. A whole lot more.
"Looks like he'd be good to fuck, though."
Brendan rolls his eyes, tuts like he's disbelieving, tries to deny that he's thought the same thing since he met Steven.
"I'll tell you what he's like."
Brendan looks at Walker sharply at that, beginning to feel uncomfortably hot. The dining room is too crowded, too loud, his head pounding.
"You're not going to..." Sleep with him. Be with him. Take him away from me.
"Weren't you wondering what I talked to him about the other day? I've told Ste the terms of the agreement, and now all he has to do is sign with that pretty arse of his." Walker raises his bowl of cereal to his lips and fucking slurps the thing noisily, and Brendan wants to bring the bowl down on top of his head, ram it into his teeth. When he puts it down he laughs, and it's quieter than Steven's, but somehow incredibly annoying where the boy's is endearing.
"Don't worry Brendan, I'll still have time for you." Walker lays a hand on Brendan's thigh, and he has to make an effort to not slam his own down on top of it, crushing his hand. "Maybe Ste will even be open to the two of us," he continues with a wink.
Brendan bats Walker's hand away, doesn't have the energy to indulge him in his sordid fantasies. He's slept with the man because of a whole host of reasons that are anything but romantic. Availability, because Walker's good in bed when Brendan can get him to shut up for more than five minutes and get down to it. Brendan doesn't use the term fuck buddies, but that's what it amounts to. With them there is no contract, it's based on when and where, and the fact that Walker wants to make Steven officially his makes Brendan nervous as hell and fucking twitchy, doesn't like how permanent that sounds.
Walker ignores his rebuff, leans in close, eyes hooded, intimate. "You want to meet me later?"
"What will your precious Steven say?"
"I told you, I've given him another week."
Brendan doesn't think it's safe, not for him but for Walker, thinks he might end up tearing chunks out of the man if he's put in a confined space with him, can barely remove the image of Walker and Steven from his mind as it is.
"Tell you what, Simon." He gets up, finishes the last remaining bites of toast, makes a real show of it, crumbs on his moustache, chewing loudly and slowly, wants to make Walker as repulsed as he is with him right now. "Go and wank yourself off on some porn, won't you? Because you're not getting that from me again."
Ste leans against the doorway until the class has filed out completely. They need to be alone for this.
He knocks on the door to alert her to his presence, but Lynsey still jumps when she sees him. He tries to reassure her, paint on a smile to show that they're not enemies here, that she doesn't have to be scared of him.
"Can I come in?"
"Sure."
He closes the door behind him, making sure it's properly shut.
"Ste, about the other day -"
"Please, let me...let me talk first." He needs to get this out, can't spend the next few months dodging her everywhere he goes. "I'm sorry about what happened. Walking in like that." The memory is still with him, watching her and Doug breaking apart like they'd been electrocuted.
"I should of knocked."
"I should of...well, I shouldn't have been doing that," Lynsey says in a small voice, and it goes so against Doug's big speech about how they're going to build a future together that Ste can't help but press her.
"But you two are together, aren't you? Doug told me."
She looks faintly embarrassed of the fact, and Ste guesses it perhaps wasn't a confidence that Doug was meant to have shared, that it came tumbling out because of what he said about Brendan.
"I shouldn't really be discussing this with a student, Ste." Ex student.
He wants to remind her of the irony of the statement when he's caught her about to have sex with a pupil. She seems to realise it at the exact moment he does, and slumps against the desk, rubbing at her eyes, the cheerful demeanor that she's had since they met evaporating.
"I know what you must think of me. That I'm a bad person, unprofessional, stupid."
"Lynsey, I'm in here for getting caught shoplifting nappies and fish fingers. I think we're pretty much even."
She laughs, looking thoroughly relieved that Ste's not taking the moral high ground here.
"I tried to stop it at first. I know it's wrong - I'm not trying to say it isn't. It's the most reckless thing I've ever done. I could lose my job for this, and that's the least of it."
Ste doesn't need to ask why she's doing it, the answer so obvious it's screaming at him.
"When Doug gets of here - are you two going to..."
"We're planning on getting a flat together. If anyone asks about where we met..." She looks to the ceiling, biting her lip. "I'll make up some story, I suppose."
Ste feels like he's pushing her to the limit here, that he's asked her to reveal something which she hasn't even begun to process in her own mind yet.
"I'm sorry." He moves to the door, trying to make his intentions clear. He's not going to prolong this. "I just wanted to let you know that I won't tell anyone. I wouldn't do that."
"Thank you."
He nods, hand on the door.
"Ste?" He turns round. "I'm sorry too. About the class. I really do think you're intelligent."
He chuffs a laugh. "Me? Intelligent?" He wonders if this is some last attempt to butter him up and keep him from spilling the truth to anyone.
"Yes," she says with conviction, and he almost believes her, wants to believe her. "That's why I spoke to Tony about other classes. You're too clever to just be sat in your cell doing nothing. You've got real potential."
"In what?" He's not fishing for compliments. He honestly can't think of a single thing he could be good at, has always felt like there's little point in trying because he'll fail anyway.
"Tony tells me you were excellent in your first cooking class."
Ste can't deny that he enjoyed it, that it felt satisfying to create something and see the end effect, to not screw it all up.
"I can't really do anything with cooking though, can I? I mean it's not like I can be a chef."
"Why not?" Lynsey seems genuinely curious, like she actually thinks he's capable of it. It disarms him, feels overwhelming to look someone with that much hope in the eye.
"I..." He thinks of reasons, but all that comes to mind is that he just can't. "I don't know." It hangs in the air between them, seems to reverberate against the walls. "I don't really know anything at the moment."
"What do you mean?"
He needs to talk to someone about this, can't deal with it on his own, and can't risk talking to Doug again and making things even more strained between them. Suddenly he thinks Lynsey might be the only person who can understand this.
"There's...there's someone I like here. One of the prisoners." He's aware of how insane it sounds. Telling people that he's interested in another man isn't getting easier, and he registers the brief look of surprise on Lynsey's face before she's tactful enough to cover it.
"That happens a lot here, Ste. People get lonely, and -"
"I'm not lonely." Or he is, but that's not what this is about. "I've only been here ten days. It's more than that. I've met this person, and things are...confusing."
"Because you like another man?"
"No." He only realises when he says it. It's not that it's another man. It's that it's Brendan. "He's done...he's done something terrible. He's killed someone."
Lynsey doesn't look shocked, but then how could she be? The place is crawling with murderers. Some days Ste feels practically saintly in comparison.
"I don't know if I can get past that, the idea of him killing someone the way he did. But..." He never thought there would be a but, but last night changed everything. "What if he had a reason? Something that I could understand."
"A reason for killing someone?"
"I know it sounds stupid." He's not blind to how crazy this is, but he can't get it out of his head. Brendan wanting him to hate him, telling him what his father did to him. The way he had acted afterwards, like he was somehow reliving it all. A cynical part of Ste had wondered for one second if Brendan was capable of being that sick, of lying to him about it because he wanted Ste to pity him, to sleep with him. He doesn't even know what job Brendan did before this, what hobbies he had, what his life was like growing up in Ireland. But he's sure, he's sure that Brendan isn't lying, but he doesn't have the faintest clue why.
"I didn't want to have anything to do with him at first. I thought he was some kind of psycho, but what if he's not? What if he snapped one day because everything got too much?"
He can see Lynsey trying to understand, straining with it, but she's not there yet. Ste doesn't think she could ever truly know what he means unless he utters the words. Rape. Child abuse. Eight years old, and it never ends. But he can't do that to Brendan, would feel like the biggest betrayal. Ste's the first person he's ever told, and this is all in Brendan's hands, he'll be the last person to ever know if that's the way he wants it.
He risks being too personal, thinks they've passed that stage already. "Did you ever think about this kind of thing with Doug? With what happened to that girl, and the overdose?"
"Of course, but..." But it's different. He knows it's different. "Doug was open about what had happened, and he showed remorse. Sometimes you have to forgive."
Remorse. Brendan hasn't shown a fleck of it so far, not the merest indication that he feels bad for what he did to his father. It had consumed Ste's mind at first. He'd wondered if when he got visits from Cheryl he felt guilty for what he'd done, for taking their dad away. But yesterday in the cell all that had drifted away, and Ste was no longer waiting for remorse. He didn't think he'd feel any either, if Terry had done that to him. He never thought when he met Brendan that he'd be drawing comparisons between them.
"Please, just tell me what to do." He can't keep the desperation out of his voice, needs someone to tell him how he's possibly meant to go about resolving this, realises that if Lynsey told him to stay away from Brendan, to forget about his feelings for him, then he fucking couldn't, but he can't go in the other direction, can't give into it, otherwise there's no going back.
"I think this one has to be up to you, Ste."
"I had a bad feeling that's what you were going to say." She laughs at the way he's all but going into a sulk, has to whine and pout about this, might kick something if he doesn't.
It's strange going outside the classroom again. For a second he almost imagined that he was back home, and that could have been Amy he was talking to, albeit without the "Steven Hay, you've left a pile of dishes in the sink and if they're not gone in half an hour then I'll serve your head to the kids for tea."
He misses her, a dull ache inside him that the visit only exacerbated. He'd finally reached a stage where he was relaxed around her, where he didn't have to keep a lid on things and keep his anger in check, his fists under control. When he walks the halls of the prison he feels like he has to register every movement, every sound, has to watch his back even if he's not getting the shit beaten out of him like some of the other guys.
He's seen it already, the way some of the men have had to go to the hospital. If a new guy comes in and the story spreads, "He was done for being in a paedophile ring" "He raped a girl", they're targeted until Ste barely recognises their face the next day, until hanging themselves suddenly becomes the better option.
Ste knows he's an easy target, that even if he spends every waking moment at the gym he's never exactly going to be Popeye. He knows that it's men who help out guys like him, that it's the Warren's and Simon's and Brendan's of this prison who are his protection. Only how can he call it that when being with one of them would be the biggest risk of all?
He knows what he has to do, knows that whatever's going on with Brendan, it's never going to work out. He's leaving in a few months, and less than two weeks ago Brendan was throwing him against his wall, his temper erupting like a volcano.
He knows what he has to do. But Ste wouldn't be in this place if he played by the rules.
Brendan's finished Hamlet, devours books and plays like they're drugs, rolls his eyes at the sheer romanticism of some of them, but it doesn't stop him from continuing them, plans on them keeping the last vestiges of his sanity alive during his sentence.
He gets them from Silas, tries to keep conversation as short as possible, knows that behind the man's harmless grandfather persona there's the guy who killed a girl barely out of her teenage years, stole her jewellery like it's his fucking calling card. Brendan goes to the library at least once a week, walks straight past the general fiction section and heads straight to the classics.
Silas seems to think that because they've both killed someone they're bonded for life, doesn't read the disgust on Brendan's face, or if he does he ignores it. He regards this place as some sort of holiday camp, mutters under his breath about how he's away from "the whores, the bitches and the sluts."
Brendan tunes him out, concentrates on the ticking clock behind the wall, drums on the counter, chews gum, hums under his breath. He hadn't been able to stop himself the other week though, had nearly earned himself another life sentence. Some days it's hard to see what difference it would make when he's in here till he dies.
There had been rumours, rumours about Lynsey and the Yank, harmless for the most part, equivalent to playground gossip, "She gives him extra assignments, if you know what I mean." Brendan was starting to think he was in prison with a bunch of twelve year olds. Silas hadn't let it drop though, seemed to have a fascination with Lynsey that made Brendan's stomach turn, couldn't stand the thought of the older man's eyes leering over her.
It had only taken two words, "cheap slut", but Brendan had grabbed him by his throat, all but dragged him over the desk, had to be restrained by the guards. He'd calmed down enough to get them off him, had been marched down to Tony's office but nothing further had come of it. He wasn't a snitch in this place, but he'd sat there for half an hour, could hardly even make sense of what he was saying, just muttered over and over again "She's a good girl, needs to be looked after, doesn't deserve that, I won't hear anyone saying that about her."
He's trying to make this book last so he doesn't have to go back there again soon, but it's hard when you're stuck in a cell for most of the day, going to the gym and cookery class being fucking treats.
He doesn't look up when he hears Steven enter.
"Started another one?" The boy nods over to the book. "What's this one about? Death and pain again?"
"Love. Gatsby's in love with Daisy, has been all his life. She becomes an obsession to him. He makes her his entire world, everything in his life revolving around her. Except she betrays him."
Steven sits down on his own bed, looks across at Brendan, face scrunched up the way it does when he's trying hard to concentrate. It's a trait that he has that Brendan's noticed, and he finds it more charming than he would like.
"How? Does she cheat on him?"
"She's with another man, yes. But that's not how she betrays him."
"How then?"
"She just doesn't love him enough. She doesn't need him the way he needs her. He bases his whole life around her, but in the end he's alone. He dies."
Steven raises his eyebrows. "You really need to choose happier books, Brendan."
"I'll make sure I order Mills and fucking Boon next time."
Steven laughs, and Brendan doesn't want to shut his ears off from it, not anymore, not like in the beginning.
"I saw you talking to Walker before."
Brendan puts the book down, doesn't like to even hear the man's name on Steven's lips, knows it's irrational as hell, but he has to resist writing "Brendan Brady's property" on the boy's head, would do it in felt tip marker or smudged crayon if that's what it would take.
"Did he...ask about me?"
"Why? Want to know what he said? Want me to be your messenger, pass letters between the bars?"
He's being a bastard and he knows it, can see it in Steven's face that he can take these digs, but it stings, it sucks out the warmth and the trust.
"I just want to know if he's planning on leaving me alone this week, like he said."
"Why, are you missing him?" I can't fucking stop.
"Why are you being like this?" Steven stands, runs his hands through his hair like he does when he's annoyed, and Brendan rises to it rather than calming it.
"Like what? You're so sensitive, you're whining-"
"I'm not whining! God Brendan, are things always going to be like this between us? Are we ever just going to be on a level?"
"What us? There is no us." He's spitting it now, disgusted at himself, can't turn off this button that makes him ruin every good thing in his life.
It stills Steven. More than the insults, more than the bruises, the idea that there's no us stops him.
"I thought we were..."
"What? How did you think this was going to end?" Brendan comes up close, so close to Steven's mouth that he could bend down and taste it easily now, it wouldn't take much. "That we'd get out of here, sail off into the sunset, find a fountain, toss a coin in the water and make a wish? Walk down the street hand in hand? Jesus Steven, you're so fucking naive."
"You're a complete idiot, you know that? A coward."
He wasn't expecting it, thought that the boy would run, that he'd finally scare him away. Steven has tears in his eyes, fear mixed with hurt, but he's not backing off.
"You can't even deal with the fact that you may actually like me. I've heard a million stories about you in this place Brendan, but I've never heard that you're scared, that you haven't got the guts."
He should kill him for that, should put Steven in the hospital away from him at last, may actually get some of the peace that he's been craving since the little git moved into his life and fucked everything up.
"I thought when I'd invited you into my bed last night that you might have finally got a clue, but looks like you woke up this morning just as stupid as ever."
"Steven -" As well as his anger he actually wants to laugh now, laugh at the sheer passion of the boy, how he's the stubbornest person he's ever met.
"No, let me finish! I didn't tell you to sleep with me because I felt sorry for you, so if that's what you're thinking you can get it out of your head. Even if you hadn't told me what happened with your dad I would have done it."
"Why?" Brendan whispers it, can't understand how someone could want him like that.
"Because that's who I am, alright? I like you. I probably shouldn't, because nine times out of ten you make me want to kill you, but that one time...that one time I just want to kiss you." Steven shakes his head, laughing in amazement at himself, like he can hardly believe what he's saying. "No, you know what? Scrap that. Even when I want to kill you I still want to kiss you."
"Walker's a good looking guy -"
"Oh God, will you stop going on about Walker? Otherwise you're going to make me think you have some kind of shrine, that he's your Daisy."
Brendan can't keep it in then, lets out a loud laugh at the idea of Simon Walker as Daisy Buchanan, dress and hair in place. He sees Steven's eyes softening, and when they share a smile it's like there's no one else on earth.
But it fades, it all has to fade, he can't let this thing become something that he'll only lose.
"You were ashamed of me, Steven. You didn't want to know -"
"Can you blame me?" No. But that's not the point. "People had told me stuff."
"Douglas?" Brendan knows how he works, thinks he's so damn good because he's not a lifer.
"Just...people. You told me so yourself, you bashed your dad's head in with a hammer -"
"Can we not talk about that?" He doesn't want it to be all he sees when he looks at Steven, has those images in his head every night when he tries to sleep, can't physically take anymore.
"I was afraid."
Of course Steven should be afraid, it's the smart, sensible thing to feel. But it hurts. Sometimes he can't take being a person who terrifies other people. Not Steven.
"I'm not anymore though."
"Why not?"
"Sometimes you have to forgive, don't you?"
Forgiveness. He's never received it because he's never admitted what he's done, could never tell Cheryl, would have to admit the truth to her if he did. He goes to the appeals, stands up in court and says that he was wrongfully convicted, does it to make her have something to live for. He realises it's imperative to her survival, that she needs to believe someone else killed Seamus.
He can't forgive himself though, can't forgive that he took another person's life, feels dirty every day, hated the feel of blood on his hands, the crack of bone underneath the hammer. He can't forgive himself for being raped, thinks that he could have done something, and what if Seamus had seen something wrong in him, why did he choose him, what if he deserved it?
"I liked sleeping with you last night," Steven admits in a quiet voice, staring up at Brendan shyly underneath his lashes.
"I did too." Honesty. It feels refreshing. He liked having Steven beside him, like the emptiness that surrounds him was beaten down, suffocated.
"Do you want to do it again?"
It's his time to say no, to push Steven away physically if he has to, set the limits, let the boy cry all over him if that's what it takes, but he won't do that again, can't let himself have another night of cuddling.
"Yes."
"Good." He gives a small smile, still so curiously shy. "Come on then." Steven offers him his hand again, just like yesterday, even though he doesn't need to be pulled up like last time. There's not an inch of space between them.
"Steven, it's not even night time. I don't want to sleep."
"Neither do I."
Brendan takes a moment to process it, feels like the puzzle pieces are slowly slipping into place.
"You mean..."
"Yeah. I mean." Steven grins, looks insecure but gorgeous with it, like he's willing Brendan to say yes with his eyes and lips, might never ask again if he says no. "Do you want me to spell it out for you?"
"Yes. Please." Brendan wouldn't mind a graph and a pie chart, can't keep up, can't believe this is actually happening.
Steven focuses on his lips, eyes dark, boy was born to seduce, Brendan's never seen anything like it. "I want to go to bed with you, and I want you to have sex with me."
Brendan's Adam's apple bobs up and down, hasn't felt this nervous in a long time, the stakes higher, because this could actually mean something, does mean something.
There's not even the option of saying no. He doubts if he could even form the word on his tongue right now, wants to cross it out of the dictionary he hates it so much, mouths to Steven "Yes", and prays to God that he sees it and doesn't change his mind.
Brendan leans forward to kiss him, but he sees Steven draw back and look at the screen window. The boy won't want anyone looking in, of course he won't, even if right now Brendan could fuck him in front of the entire prison.
Brendan goes to the door, nearly smirks when he sees that Darren's patrolling his floor still.
"Oi. Osborne?"
Darren comes at the speed of lightning, is like a dog with a bone, wants to be on Brendan's good books so fiercely that it's embarrassing. Useful.
"I'm going to need some privacy here. So if you could just lock the window..." All the guards have a set of keys that can make the screen go white, shutting out the inside.
"Sorry Brendan, you know I can't do that."
Brendan sighs, knows that Darren's unnecessarily prolonging this when it's going to happen, and they both know it.
"How's that wife of yours, Darren? Nancy, isn't it? Beautiful girl. And Oscar - he must still be young, right? Not even a year?"
Darren swallows, has turned pale, knows exactly what Brendan's doing here.
"Yeah..."
"It would be a shame if something happened to them," he whispers, low and promising.
"I...I can tell Tony about this, you know."
Brendan laughs, and Darren takes a step back, looks like it's burnt him.
"One word from me to one of my boys, and they'd be both killed before Tony could lift a finger."
The only boys he has are Declan and Paddy, and he'd rather slit his own throat than hurt a woman and her child, but Darren doesn't know this, looks sick and terrified and clammy.
"How long do you need?"
Brendan looks back into the cell. Steven's sprawled out on the bed now, still dressed but looks like he's willing Brendan to get on with it, hand rubbing against his groin. Jesus.
"Give us two hours."
"Two? Brendan, I can't -"
"Thanks, Osborne."
Brendan slams the door, turning back to the boy on his bed.
He's about to go to hell, and he can't fucking wait.