Ste
There's a trickle of sweat running down his back. It's licked off by Brendan's tongue as it travels across his skin, tickling his spine with its fluttering motions. Brendan alternates, feathery light one moment, punishingly cruel the next, biting into Ste's flesh and sucking a bruise which will take weeks to fade.
He tries to sit up, but he's pushed back down. He lets out a breathy laugh; Brendan's being rough tonight. He likes it.
They've had a few drinks, but it's not that that's warming Ste's insides. Brendan's body is weighing down on his now, and neither of them move for a moment. Ste waits, tries to work out what he'll do next, and he can feel Brendan nuzzling against his hair, hand wrapping around Ste's stomach. It's intimate, and a stark contrast to his previous roughness. Ste doesn't know which one he prefers: either way, he feels loved.
He shifts against the mattress, and it doesn't go unnoticed.
"You jerking off?" Brendan's voice is soft and muffled; it sounds like he's woken from a deep sleep.
"No." Ste raises his hands to prove it.
"You're rubbing against the covers." Brendan laughs, his leg moving. Ste can feel his knee pressing against the groove of his arse. "Let me see."
Ste rolls over. Brendan barely moves as he does, staying locked against his body. He's so close that Ste could count the hairs on his moustache.
Ste feels a rising blush start to form. His dick's lying curled against his stomach. They've barely down anything and he's already hard.
"Look at that." Brendan's eyes are bright in the darkness. He'd wanted to keep the lights on, but Ste had insisted. It's not that he doesn't want Brendan to see him, but there's something he loves about this, lying safe in the darkness, feeling Brendan all around him. It feels peaceful. It feels like there's nothing to be scared of.
Brendan takes his dick in his hand. Ste squirms and wriggles, a whine escaping his throat when Brendan's touch is too gentle, too teasing. It earns him a laugh but he gets what he wants: Brendan relents, stroking him hard, and Ste's toes curl under the mattress, his hands grasping the sheets either side of him.
Brendan stops seconds before he's about to come. Ste can see the dampness on his palm.
He doesn't complain, because he knows what's coming next. He knows he's going to like it. The anticipation of it makes him shiver; the sound of the condom being torn open and the wrapper discarded on the floor, neither of them wanting to move to the bin. The opening of the bedside drawer as Brendan gets a new bottle of lube. The sound of his voice, thick with desire now, spread your cheeks, Steven, and Ste does, does it like he's never done it for anyone, hands either side of his cheeks, opening up for Brendan. He strokes the lube over his rim, and Ste thinks for a moment that that's all he'll get, but then he goes in with his finger, only giving him a short time to adjust before he adds another one, and another one, and Ste's head is rolling back against the pillow, and he's letting out noises that he's sure can't belong to him. But they do, and they grow louder as Brendan takes his time, and Ste's dick is still painfully hard, and he's going to come -
Brendan's fingers slide out of him. It's easy, and when he replaces them with his dick it's even easier. They fit together. They always have.
Ste grips him tighter, his hands moving down Brendan's back to his arse. There are already marks there, and he gets an inordinate amount of satisfaction from seeing them. He knows these ones will replace the kind that are already beginning to fade. They're everywhere, imprints of him, proof of what they've done. He can remember every one; where they were, how they gave them to each other. It momentarily distracts him, but Brendan pulls him back into the room, a hand wrapped around his dick as he moves inside him, and Ste's sure that he's never felt anything better than this.
It's stiflingly hot. They're so wrapped in each other that it's a chaotic jumble of limbs and skin and lips and eyes and teeth, showing through their open mouthed smiles. They're almost laughing from the high, but then their bodies move faster and their cries are louder, and all the laughter dies away. They never stop looking at each other, their mouths gaping, Brendan's pulse jumping erratically under Ste's fingertips. Even in the darkness they can see everything, feel everything.
They disentangle. Ste needs to get his breath back, and he needs a moment alone. He feels overwhelmed. There was a chance that all of this - Brendan, him and Brendan - could never have happened, that they never would have met. It's a sobering thought, and he sits on the closed toilet seat in the bathroom, the door locked, his naked body covered in goosebumps.
"Steven? You coming back to bed?"
It's beautiful in its casualness, in its certainty. Brendan doesn't doubt that he will, and he doesn't doubt that he will the next night or the one after that, or all the other nights. This is their life now.
Ste gives his face a quick splash in the sink, then turns the light off and crawls back into bed. They'll have to change the sheets tomorrow. It's becoming a regular occurrence; at this rate they'll have to spend their entire wages on new linen.
Ste cuddles up close. He smiles as Brendan wraps an arm around him, kissing the top of his forehead. They'll go to sleep now, but perhaps they'll wake in the night and kiss for a while, their hands drifting lower. They might wank each other off, or fuck into the early hours. They'll be tired in the morning, but it won't matter. They'll get some fresh air, take the kids to the park, and Amy will tease them about why they've got dark shadows under their eyes. Ste will tell her to leave it out, to stop being nosy, but secretly he'll be pleased, and he'll shine with it. She'll get him on his own after that, when Brendan's making her tea back at the flat, and she'll ask everything okay?
Yeah. He'll be smiling shyly, not used to this kind of happiness. Everything's perfect.
When Ste wakes up alone in his bed, days after being released from prison, he can still taste Brendan's kisses. He can still remember everything, and he doesn't know if it was a dream or a nightmare.
::::::
He needs to change the sheets.
It's still early, and he bundles them together, looking left to right down the hallway before he exits the room. The coast seems clear, but he still makes sure he tiptoes across the carpet to the kitchen.
He swears, very loudly, when Amy says good morning to him. She's standing at the kitchen counter, cup of tea in her hand, suspicion creeping in when his eyes widen at the shock of seeing her.
"Morning, Ames." He has to remind himself that he's not doing anything wrong. He's just washing his bedcovers. There's nothing to be nervous about.
His twisted stomach doesn't seem to agree.
"What are you doing?" She looks him up and down. He's clutching the sheets closely to his chest. He tries to ease up, to not look like he has I've got a secret on his forehead, but it's too late.
"Just doing my washing." He walks quickly to the machine, but his sheets are soaked, the dampness changing the colour, and Amy's got a front row view.
"Oh my God." She goes from being mildly horrified to amused. "You didn't?"
Ste shoves the sheets in the machine, slamming the door closed.
"You did!"
"Leave it." He washes his hands then gets some cereal out from the cupboard. He can feel Amy's eyes on him.
"You dirty dog." She's loving this. One of the drawbacks of having her as a best friend is that she wants all the details of everything, and there's no getting out of it if he wants to stay quiet.
"Ames." He hopes that by shoving cocoa pops into his mouth she'll get the message that they're not having this conversation, but she won't be deterred. She joins him with her tea, looking at him like a spectator.
"Give me all the details."
"You want to know about me wanking off?"
"No! I mean - who were you thinking about?"
"Jesus. You've become a right gossip."
"First of all, I've always been a gossip. Second of all - when did you start saying Jesus?"
"Dunno. I've always said it."
"No you haven't. Anyway," Amy dismisses, hand waving in the air. "Back to your wet dream."
"You don't mess about, do you?"
"If I have to wash your manky sheets then the least you can do is give me some little detail."
"I'm not asking you to hand wash them! Jes - look, it's nothing. It was just a stupid dream." He rises from the table, dropping his bowl in the sink, watching as the water discolours and turns brown from his cereal.
"Where are you going? You haven't finished your breakfast."
"I've lost my appetite." It was so vivid, all of it. He woke up thinking that Brendan would be there beside him, and now that he's not -
He has to get out of here. He's got an important day ahead of him.
"I'm off into town." Ste calls over his shoulder, rifling through his drawers and bringing out his new tracksuit top and jogging bottoms. He hopes Amy won't comment on his new clothing. There's a chance that she'll know something's up; he's never been fussed about clothes shopping before. She's practically had to drag him into the city centre in the past, tiring of him arguing that it didn't matter if he had holes in his t-shirts.
"Job hunting?" Even from a distance, he can hear the hope in her voice, like she truly thinks he's going to do right by her.
One day he won't have to lie. One day he'll have a job to go to, and Brendan will be here. He won't have to sneak out and invent a cover story.
"Yeah. I'll be back in a few hours." He pulls on his clothes hurriedly. He's got hours before the visit, but he doesn't trust public transport. It's a long bus ride, and he's already tormented himself with the possibility of being late, and Brendan thinking that he's given up on him.
He clutches the visiting order in his hands. It looks worn from how many times he's held it, and he hates having to fold it and crease it to fit it into his trouser pocket. He takes a last look in the mirror before he leaves. He'll have to do.
Kissing the kids goodbye, he closes the front door behind him. He needs the air, needs to feel it on his face, for it to cool him, and he takes great lungfuls like he's been starved of it. He doesn't have to wait long for the bus; within five minutes it's here, and he watches as the houses and trees and people flash by as he makes his way back to prison, back to Brendan.
::::::
Brendan
He's been lucky. Extremely lucky. He stashed away the bottle of moonshine and he hasn't heard a single word about it since. No officer banging at his door, dragging him to Tony's office. No word from any of the other men about it, signalling that they know. The guy that Brendan brought it off has miraculously stayed quiet. He thinks about how close he was to ruining everything, and how angry Steven would have been. But his anger Brendan can take; it's imagining him hurt that torments him the most.
He hopes Steven won't be able to see the guilt that lingers. Brendan's already decided that he's not going to tell him. It was a stupid mistake that won't happen again, and it would only do more damage than good. He concentrates instead on getting ready for the visit, trying to ignore the fear that Steven won't come, that he's changed his mind. He's quiet as he gets dressed, and even Ethan remarks on it, asking him where his usual music is. Brendan snaps when he asks him if he's nervous; talking about it makes it worse.
"Ready?" Douglas pops his head around the door. He gets a visit most weeks, either from his parents when they have some free time to fly over, or more commonly a friend; there's a girl with blond hair who Brendan's become accustomed to seeing, or a guy called Jamil who continues to look around the room in wonderment, as though he's part of a fascinating documentary and is playing the wide eyed filmmaker.
"I am. Brendan?" Ethan asks, and it feels like a loaded question. Will he ever be ready for this? Will it get easier each week, or will it always feel so difficult?
"Give me a second. Just need to use the bathroom."
He moves from the room, not wanting to think about what Douglas will say in his absence. Despite his little pep talk the other day, Brendan knows that he remains unconvinced about all of this. Douglas will never think that he's good enough for Steven. They'll be no winning him round or waiting for the day when he'll change his mind. This is it: this is the fixed point.
He's worn something casual, jeans and a black t-shirt. He considered a suit, but it seemed too sombre. This is meant to be something good. Steven visiting him in here - it's meant to be everything.
Brendan checks his reflection in the mirror. He wonders how Steven can love a man like him, a man who's done what he's done. How he can want to come back here, a place that it took him three months to escape from.
He should send him away. He should stay in his cell and refuse to see him. Steven might be upset, but Brendan won't be around to see it. He could reject all his calls, cut all contact, force him to move on with his life. He could end all of this, now.
He's weak. He wants him, and he's selfish. He can't not see him, not now he's so close, knowing that Steven's already in the building somewhere, getting searched and expecting him to be waiting for him.
Maybe one day Brendan will have the strength to turn him away, but not today. Today he has to see his face, has to hear his voice, has to touch him. He can't imagine a day when he won't.
::::::
Ste
He's nervous as hell. He's fidgeting, his legs going a mile a minute, his hands beating on them like he's playing a drum. He's surrounded by what are now familiar faces; he's seen the officers when he was checked over, he's seen Doug and Ethan from across the room, and they tried to sit as close as possible to his table, facing him and smiling over before giving their full attention to their visitors. Even seeing the people he doesn't like is a sort of strange comfort. They stare over at him in the way they do when Brendan's not there, like he's fresh meat that they never got a proper chance to play with.
But still no Brendan.
The line of prisoners hasn't finished filing into the room yet. Ste takes some comfort in that, but his heart feels caught in his throat, and he's sure he's not hiding the fear that's growing like a wave. A part of him had known that the chance of Brendan coming was slim, but he'd been hanging onto that promise, that belief that Brendan wouldn't let him down. If he has, then he can't go home. He can't face Amy and the kids and pretend everything's normal. He doesn't know where he'll go.
It feels like a cruel twist of fate when Brendan's the last in the line. Ste wonders if he's done it on purpose, if a part of him likes keeping him guessing. He'll have to tell Brendan to try and be first next time. He can't take the possibility of him not showing up.
They don't hug. Ste had thought they might, but he's relieved when he doesn't have to stand up. His legs are shaking, and he's sure he'd be unsteady on his feet. Instead Brendan sits opposite him, laying his hands on the table across from Ste. They don't touch. Not yet.
It's been a week, but it's felt like a lifetime. A life sentence.
"How are you?" It's an obvious opener, but Ste regrets it being the first words he speaks. He had planned to tell him how much he's missed him. That he loves him. That was supposed to come before anything else.
"Better now." Brendan looks relieved, and Ste can almost see a change in him. His smile is small but visible. Other things have changed too, or maybe it's his imagination: his moustache looks longer. His arms look bigger. His eyes look warmer. "Everything okay at home?" He leans in close, and Ste becomes unaware of anyone else around them.
"It's fine. Weird, but fine." Brendan doesn't probe deeper; he seems to know without Ste having to say. Three months is enough to feel institutionalised. It's enough to feel like the outside world is a lonely, complicated place.
He's about to ask another question, but Brendan interrupts.
"I'm sorry."
"About what?"
"The phone call."
"Don't worry about it." He's put it behind him, burying it with the rest of the bad things that have happened in here. But he's privately glad for the apology, that Brendan hasn't completely brushed it aside. It feels like progress. "You're here now."
"Nowhere else I'd be."
"What I mean is - you're doing this." Ste puts his hand over his then. Brendan doesn't flinch away, doesn't try and get him to stop. The men in here have seen worse. They've seen them with their arms around each other, their tongue's fucking. This feels innocent in comparison.
Brendan sighs, his shoulders slumping. "I've missed you. I don't know if I can do this."
"You can. I meant every word of what I said on the phone - we're gonna get you out. Your next session with Des is tomorrow -"
"I can't tell him tomorrow." Brendan's hand feels cold under his. Ste's only ever seen him look this scared when they were trapped in the library with Warren.
"Not tomorrow, but...maybe you could build up to it," Ste says gently, aware that Brendan could walk away from him whenever he wants. He's wary of pushing him again.
"Maybe." It's enough that he's even considering it. It feels huge, even if Brendan does change the subjects moments later. "Tell me about what you've been doing. I need to - I need to know about something outside of here."
Ste understands that. Everything's the same in here; the routine, the people, the conversation. Time can stretch on for ever if you have no one meaningful to share it with.
"Any wild nights out?" His voice is light, joking, but there's something underneath that tells Ste that he's been thinking about this.
"No." There's no point in telling Brendan that he almost went to a club. He'll see it as a night on the pull, and he wouldn't be entirely wrong: that's what Ste had been planning to do. He'd been stung, and he wanted to sting Brendan back.
"Come on, nothing?" There's an edge of worry there, and it hurts Ste to hear it. Brendan had no hesitation when he stood in front of the mirror with him and forced him to look at his own reflection, forced him to see the things he loves, but it doesn't seem to translate back to him. He still doesn't seem to understand why Ste would find it impossible to walk away.
"I've just been in with the kids mostly. And Amy. But..."
"But what?"
"She's sort of...suspecting."
"Suspecting what?" Their hands are still touching on the table. An officer walks past them and looks in their direction, but doesn't comment.
Ste shrugs. He doesn't know anything for sure, and he doubts that Amy has guessed the truth. She'd never imagine that he's here now, visiting his boyfriend in prison.
"She thinks I've been acting weird. And today - right, don't laugh." He's still embarrassed, and he lowers his voice as he tells Brendan, already regretting starting the story in the first place. "She caught me while I was..."
"What? Masturbating?"
Ste hushes him loudly, staring around the room. Luckily it looks like no one's heard. He tries not to be paranoid; he doesn't want to think that any laughter he can hear is because of him.
"No. Not exactly. I was washing my sheets, because I'd...I'd had a dream. About you."
Brendan's expression goes from one of surprise to one of amused satisfaction. He leans back in his chair, letting out a gruff laugh.
"About me? Can't say I blame you."
"It's alright for you, innit? You don't have to be the one facing the mother of your kids after you've had a wet dream."
"Actually, you'd be surprised how many times that happened," Brendan says drolly. Ste knows he's only playing, but he doesn't want to hear it; he wasn't a part of Brendan's life then, and he doesn't want to think about who Brendan might have been dreaming of.
"It was proper embarrassing."
"What did you tell her?"
"Not much. I just made my escape, didn't I? It's not like I could tell her the truth."
Brendan stops smiling. "No. Course not." He coughs, and his expression clears. "So, what else have you been doing?"
There's something about the way he says it that makes Ste feel lightheaded.
"Just normal stuff. Watching telly, taking the kids to the park. Doing a bit of cooking." Somehow he knows that that's not what Brendan's really asking.
"No, I mean what else, Steven? Apart from your dreams?" They're as close to each other as they can get while remaining in their seats. He can smell the coffee on Brendan's breath. He'll have to make a note of what type he likes and buy some. Not for him or Amy - they rarely drink coffee. But for when Brendan's released. Coffee and beer, that's what he'll have to get.
Ste clears his throat, looking at Brendan coyly. He feels suddenly shy, but brazen too. It's an adjustment, talking like this out in the open. He's so used to it being just the two of them in their cells. It may not have been entirely private, but they still had their own space.
He desperately wants to lean over and kiss him. Brendan seems to be thinking the same thing; his eyes are on Ste's mouth, and he's leaning closer and closer towards him.
They kiss before anyone can stop them. Brendan grabs Ste's face in his hands and their mouths lock together. It's urgent and it's rough, and Brendan's stubble scrapes across Ste's upper lip. He can feel Brendan's hand going to the back of his neck, his fingers stroking against his hair.
It's over too soon.
An officer's come between them, separating them, his hands firm.
"That's enough." He asks them both to open their mouths, and when he's satisfied that there aren't any drugs there he moves on. They know there's a chance that they'll be watched more closely from now on, but it's worth it for that moment, that kiss. They grin at each other and Ste touches his mouth, can still feel the burn of Brendan's moustache and the hint of a beginning of a beard that's turned his skin lightly pink from the friction.
The way Brendan's smiling at him makes his blood rush.
"Where were we?" Brendan's still leaning in. Their feet are touching under the table.
"You were asking me what I do to myself." Ste's mouth parts, and he allows himself to wet his lips with his tongue. The movement's fleeting but Brendan follows it, eyes dark. He's wearing a t-shirt that he looks like he's about to burst out of; it looks tiny compared to his frame. Ste knows what's underneath it, knows what he'd see it he were to get him out of his clothes. He knows, and it's killing him.
Ste rubs at his eyes. It doesn't help to get rid of the images, to stop himself from imagining what he wants.
"I don't know if I can do this." He feels drained all of a sudden.
"What?" Brendan frowns, and for a moment he looks so afraid, so unsure, that Ste's certain that Brendan thinks he's going to leave him. That he's going to say something which will break him.
"I just mean - this. Not being able to touch you."
"I told you before. No one's going to stop me from touching you." He's so adamant, but Ste doesn't buy it. There's no way that Brendan can be satisfied with this. Maybe for a few days, maybe for a few weeks, but for months? For years, if his appeal takes longer than Ste plans? Ste can wait for him. Ste can hold off. But Brendan?
"They just did." Ste looks over towards the officer, still watching them out of the corner of his eye.
"Ignore him," Brendan dismisses, and he makes Ste look at him again, a hand cupping his chin. "Focus on this. Tell me."
"What?" He feels distracted, aware of how many people there are around them. They're not in a cell anymore. They're not alone.
"Tell me what you've been doing."
Ste tries to concentrate, tries to shut everything else out. Think about how I feel when I'm with him. Think about what it's like when we're together, and nothing else matters.
"The other day..." He falters.
"Steven?" Brendan says encouragingly.
"I was alone in the flat."
"Sounds promising."
Ste licks his lips, remembering. "I went into my room, and..."
"And?"
"I...you know..."
"Enlighten me."
Ste laughs nervously. "...Touched myself. While...you know...thinking about you."
"Really?" Brendan sounds warmed by the thought.
"Don't start getting ahead of yourself. Most of the time I was thinking of Ryan Gosling, wasn't I?"
Brendan's leg kicks him lightly under the table.
"Oi."
"What made you think of me?"
"I always think of you," Ste says quietly. Brendan's leg rubs up against his.
"But why then? Why that time specifically?" He wants the details, all of them. Perhaps that's what keeps him going in here.
"It's silly."
"Why?"
"Because I was...I'd just brought new clothes in town. What I'm wearing now. And it made me think of you. Of us."
"Why is that silly?" Brendan's eyes travel over his body; over his new tracksuit, down to what he can see of Ste's jogging bottoms.
"Because you haven't even noticed them. You haven't seen anything." Immediately Ste feels stupid for saying it. He doesn't need constant compliments or recognition for some tacky outfit that he brought down the local shops.
"I don't really tend to notice the clothes on you, Steven. I prefer them off."
"Sounds like a chat up line. You say that to all the boys?"
He thinks Brendan will make another joke: only the cute ones, or only if they're lucky, but he doesn't. His thumb trails over Ste's cheek. It feels impossibly soft, like he's applying next to no pressure.
"Never."
"Good." They smile at each other.
::::::
Brendan
They've been together for just over thirty minutes when Brendan notices that Steven's distracted by something. The boy's looking over his shoulder, the lines on his forehead deepening as the visit progresses.
Eventually Brendan stops mid sentence, staring behind him in the direction of where Steven's looking.
His expression hardens.
He turns back to Steven, strained smile on his face. He's sure the boy can see his discomfort, but he seems more concerned with his own.
"Everything okay?" Brendan asks. There's little point in ignoring it.
"Yeah. He just keeps looking over." Steven looks at Kevin again, eyes narrowing. Brendan would find it amusing, this jealousy and competition, if it hadn't been for the other night. Kevin's got dirt on him now, and Brendan wouldn't put it past the little bastard to use it against him.
"I'm sure he's just looking around the room."
"No. I'm not imagining things, Brendan."
"I never said you were," Brendan says, hands raised in defense at Steven's tone.
"He's looking at us. At me. Like I'm a piece of dirt on his shoe."
"Ignore him." He doesn't want Steven to have to worry about Kevin. Jesus. Kevin.
"I can't!" Steven's still not looking at him, consumed by what's happening behind Brendan. "Why does he keep staring? And he looks dead smug. Little rat."
"Exactly. He's a rat. He's fucking - he's insignificant, Steven. Come on. Continue what you were telling me." He wants to hear more about what happened in Steven's bedroom when he was home alone. He might go fucking crazy if he doesn't. One week without being able to touch him - really, properly touch him. This is all he has right now.
"I don't exactly feel like talking about that right now, do I? Not with Kevin staring at me." Steven's bottom lip sticks out. It's delicious. Brendan's almost tempted to piss him off further just so he keeps it up.
Brendan sighs, admitting defeat. He turns round, facing Kevin. He doesn't say anything. He just stares at him, and the kid seems to get the message. Brendan can see the colour draining from his face, and after a moment he stares straight ahead of him, refocusing on his visitor.
"I bet he hasn't even mentioned Walker, has he? Bet he doesn't even care."
"I don't think they were the love story of the century, Steven."
"Yeah but we care more about him, even after everything he did." Steven pauses, hands clasped tightly together. He's put some weight on; not much, but enough that it doesn't look like there are deep groves in his cheekbones. The shadows under his eyes aren't as pronounced. His body looks stronger, more defined. Brendan's got to hand it to that girl of his at home: whatever she's doing, he looks better now. Healthier.
"I read about him in the papers."
"Really?" Brendan's not shocked that Walker's in the papers. He's seen him all over the news himself, a quick shot of him being driven away in the police van. He's become a bit of a celebrity over the past few days, attracting an interest from the press that was never there before. A copper killing a colleague had put him in the public eye in the first place, but managing to murder two high profile prisoners without being stopped - that had cemented him as front page news. Brendan's barely seen Tony in recent days; word is he's been in talks with his bosses, trying to find a possible explanation as to how Walker did what he did. Why no one realised exactly what he was capable of.
He doesn't tell Steven that he's shocked because he's never even seen the boy pick up a paper.
"Yeah. He's everywhere. I don't know whether - I don't know whether I should feel bad for him or not."
"I don't think we'll ever know." Brendan's no closer to figuring it out. It varies from moment to moment: one second he thinks that Walker deserves what he's getting, that he's earned the punishment after what he did. Then he thinks of being in that interrogation room with him, and hearing his story. Hearing the truth at last, and all the black and white fading, replaced with grey and colour and Walker's life. And the hate drains away.
"They've got all these quotes from people who knew Warren and Silas." Scorn fills Steven's voice. "People who knew them from school, back when they were kids. People who haven't even seen them for years. They're trying to say that they were innocent, Bren - trying to make out that they didn't deserve this, that they were fucking - fucking -"
"Angels."
"Exactly. How can they do that?"
"They've decided that Walker's their villain. Anything else would mess with their story."
"It's not fair."
"Life isn't fair." Brendan feels the weight of it as the words leave his mouth. Life isn't fair.
Maybe he's spooked the boy, because Steven changes the subject.
"I was thinking, next week when I see you - I could bring you something, if you want. I know I can't exactly bring much, but maybe some clothes if you need them, something new - or some money."
Brendan shakes his head. Absolutely not.
"You're not bringing me any money, Steven."
"But -" Steven sits up in his seat. Brendan can see the fire in his eyes.
"No. You've barely got enough as it is." He doesn't mean it to offend. But everything that Steven has - everything that he's managed to scrape together - Brendan wants it to be his. His and Amy's and the kids. He's not taking a single penny from him.
"I'll be fine."
"So will I," Brendan says firmly.
"You don't have to be so stubborn all the time, you know."
"I know."
Steven knows it doesn't change anything. He lets it drop.
"And anyway." Brendan avoids Steven's gaze. He hopes this will be as painless as he's planned it in his head. "Next week's not going to work out."
"What?" Steven sounds like he thinks he's misheard him.
"You can't visit next week."
"Why not?"
"Cheryl's coming."
"So?"
"So, what am I gonna do? See you two together, sitting side by side?"
"So you're just gonna ditch me for her?" He's pouting unashamedly now.
"I'm not ditching you."
"She know about me, doesn't she? You told her?"
"Yeah, she knows." He hadn't exactly intended on telling Cheryl, but Steven sitting across from him during visiting hours had been distracting, and he hadn't been able to stop her from finding out.
"Then what's the problem?" Steven's expression turns cold. "You told her I was visiting you this week, right?"
"Not exactly." His voice is lowered. He feels like they're about to have a domestic, and he'd rather not have the entire prison hear.
"Then what does she think?" Steven gapes at him in disbelief.
"She couldn't make this week. She had a thing with Nate, so..."
Steven stands up. It doesn't go unnoticed; Brendan sees Douglas glancing their way. He narrows his eyes when he looks at Brendan: look who's fucked up again.
"So I'm only here because your sister couldn't make it?"
"Sit down." He adds a please when Steven completely ignores him, but it doesn't have the desired effect. He can see an officer starting to approach. "Steven, please."
His desperation must be showing, because Steven finally sits. Their seats seem far away. Too far.
"Well?" He's waiting for an explanation. Brendan wouldn't be surprised if he left before visiting hours are over if he didn't get it.
"I can't...I can't mix those two worlds together."
His words are a mistake. He's hurt the boy.
"Why, because you're ashamed of me? You don't think I'm good enough to show off to your family?"
"Ashamed of you? I'm in prison for murder. I don't think I have the right to be ashamed."
"But are you? Is it because I'm a man, is that it?"
"No." He can't pretend that he's completely fine with Cheryl knowing every detail of his private life; he isn't. But he's not ashamed of Steven. He's the only thing he's done right in a very long time. Perhaps ever.
"She talks about my dad a lot, okay?" Brendan continues. "Every visit, every conversation we have. She mentions the appeal, and -"
"She's right there. You should appeal. We've talked about this. You're going to -"
"And what happens to Cheryl?" He's thought about this, and there's no still no answer that makes sense to him. He can imagine telling Desmond. Jesus, he can even imagine telling a court if it comes down to it, if Steven's there with him. But Cheryl? His own sister? He'll destroy her childhood. Everything that she values, everything she remembers.
"She's never going to forgive me, Steven. If you two are here together, then...what are you going to do when she brings up Seamus? Are you just going to sit there, be able to take it?"
Steven hesitates. He knows he won't. He knows that he won't be able to sit in silence, pretending that he's blind to the truth.
"What about the week after that though?" His voice sounds small. "And the one after that? Are you just never gonna let me in the same room as her in case I say too much?"
"No. I'll think of something." He doesn't know what that something is. "Hey." He wants to wipe the sadness from Steven's face. "It'll be okay, yeah? Believe me."
"Whatever you say, Brendan."
::::::
Ste
Visiting hour's over. Their first one, and it's feeling like it might be their last.
They hold onto each other before Ste leaves. It can't last for long; just a quick hug before the officers decide it's too long and separate them. It's the same with everyone; clinging on for dear life, always feeling like it's never enough.
Ste feels like he's breathing him in.
"I guess I'll see you soon then." He still hasn't let go of his anger. He knows how it'll make Brendan feel, that he'll be remembering this for the rest of the week, but he wouldn't have to be like this at all if he hadn't told him he couldn't visit. Ste doesn't know when he'll see him again. Whether this is all just an elaborate ploy on Brendan's part to make sure that he never visits.
"Soon. Very soon."
Ste doesn't see it as a promise.
"Call me. Or I'll call you." He can hear the bitterness leeching from his voice.
"Steven -"
"I've got to go." He walks from the room, and he doesn't look back.