Brendan
Douglas has got a new guy staying with him now. He's at least six foot four, and he towers over the kid. He's bald, the strong and silent type, and on the few occasions that Brendan's heard him talk he's gruff, grunting words out like he's being forced to. He hasn't started any trouble yet, and he's good at picking up cues: when Brendan knocks on the door of Douglas's cell, the guy stares between them, assessing, and leaves. Brendan closes the door behind him.
"How's your new roomie?"
He can clearly see which is Douglas's side of the room. It looks empty, almost completely bare save for a few jumpers lying around on the bed, ready to be packed away. Today is his last day. Tomorrow he'll be waking up in his own bed. He'll be free to see Steven whenever he wants.
It's the first time that Brendan's ever wanted to be anything like him.
"He's fine. All bark and no bite." Douglas doesn't look at him. It's one of the things that frustrates Brendan the most. If the kid's not glaring at him, openly judging him, then he doesn't even give him the curtesy of looking into his eyes when they're talking. It's like the whole thing is beneath him.
Brendan considers spooking him just for the hell of it, just to remind Douglas who's boss here. But that's not why he came, not why he's choosing to spend time with someone who he can't stand.
"I need to talk to you."
"About Ste?"
Brendan blinks, surprised. He didn't expect Douglas to be this quick, this tuned into how his mind works.
"Yeah. You're going to see him, aren't you?" He doesn't know which answer he wants. He needs to know that there's going to be someone looking out for him, someone who Steven knows. But the idea of Douglas potentially poisoning his mind against him -
"We're friends. Of course I will." He continues packing his belongings away, going over to the sink and grabbing his toothpaste, throwing it into his bag. "I'd be more worried about whether you're going to see him."
"What do you mean?" Brendan doesn't like his tone. So fucking smug and certain.
"Your visit. Ste looked pretty upset."
"Steven's fine." He hates that he doesn't entirely know if that's true. He has no idea what state Steven's in.
"What did you say to him anyway?"
"Want me to recount our whole conversation for you? Draw you a diagram, maybe do a few doodles in the margin? Jesus. He's fine, trust me. He's strong."
"Yeah, because he has to be. Because people like you and his parents made him have to grow up fast."
Brendan's close to hitting him. He knows how good he'd feel afterwards if he did.
Don't do it. Don't risk it.
He opens the door, needing to create distance between them. He can see officers patrolling outside, and for once he's glad of their proximity.
"Keep an eye on him, yeah?" He leans against the doorframe. His hands are shaking. Why Douglas? Why does he get to be with Steven, and all Brendan seems to be able to do is push him away?
"Make sure he isn't talking to any other men, you mean?" His voice is knowing.
"That too," Brendan concedes. Douglas laughs; perhaps he thinks he's joking. He isn't. "Look after Lynsey too," he continues, quieter now. He's waited a long time for her to come to her senses, to end this thing with Douglas and find someone else, but he knows it's not going to happen. The least he can do is make sure the kid treats her right.
"What is it with you and the people I care about? Why do you always have to be there?"
Brendan stares at him. "I could ask you the same thing."
He leaves Douglas to his packing. He doesn't want to see anymore.
He knows how Steven feels now. His jealousy of Douglas and Lynsey had seemed irrational at the time. Brendan didn't want to be anything like them. What they had seemed juvenile, a forbidden romance that would dissipate in the real world. Now he gets it. It's the freedom they have. When Douglas leaves, their whole lives can begin. It doesn't matter if they last days or months or years: they have that chance. They can be anything they want to be.
Brendan walks into the games room. He goes almost unnoticed. He's become a shadow in recent days. He's heard it whispered round, a trail of rumours. Brady's missing that little girlfriend of his. Brady's whipped. Brady's gone soft. He knows it wouldn't take much to make people fear him again, but he wants to keep his head down. It allows him the privacy to dial Steven's number and not have to know that all eyes are on him, waiting to see his humiliation and rejection.
Amy answers. She sounds young - she always does, like she's little more than Declan's age - and Brendan slams down the phone, wonders how he can be so afraid of a girl like her. It's the third time that she's picked up today. He won't be able to phone again, not if he doesn't want her to go from suspicious to truly paranoid. Either Steven's out or he's making a point of ignoring him. Either way, Brendan loses.
::::::
Ste
"That's weird." Amy joins him on the sofa where he's slumped, flicking between channels.
"What's that?"
"No answer again."
Ste tries to keep his expression blank. He knows he's being irresponsible. If he doesn't want Amy to find out about Brendan - which he most definitely doesn't - then he should answer the phone. But he still needs time to cool down. Speaking to Brendan will only remind him again that he won't be able to visit him next week. The week ahead already seems like it's stretching infinity ahead of him. The loneliness feels like it's drowning him.
"Probably just some kid messing around."
"Do kids really still do that nowadays?" Amy takes the remote off him, switching to the news. He grumbles but allows it. He wouldn't ordinarily mind; he can usually zone out if he's not interested in something. It's seeing Walker's face filling the screen that he's scared of. The stories have escalated, and the press seem to have taken delight in digging up as much dirt about him as possible. Ste doesn't want Amy to put two and two together and realise that she's seen him during visiting hours. He knows that she'll have the same view of him as everyone else; she'll think he's a monster, and he can't tell her what Walker did to save him. He can't tell her what he was saved from.
"We did, didn't we? We did all sorts."
"True. Hopefully they'll get bored soon enough."
"I'm sure they will." He puts his arm around Amy, lets her cuddle up to his side.
"How did the job search go the other day? Sorry, I didn't even ask you."
He'd been hoping she wouldn't.
"Not much luck." It's not exactly a lie. He knows they'll be nothing out there for him.
"Keep trying. Something will turn up."
Ste hums non-committedly. He knows that the longer he delays it, the worse it's going to get. He's about half way done on updating his CV - not that there's much to update, apart from a three month absence. Every time he tries to complete it, panics engulfs him. He starts thinking of the rejections. If he's lucky enough to get an interview, he knows it'll be game over when he's asked the tough questions. He's considered lying, saying that he doesn't have a criminal record, but he knows he'll be found out.
He wants to put it off, all of it, just for one more day.
::::::
He's about to turn in for bed when the phone rings. He stills. They haven't had any silent phone calls for days now.
"Ste?" Amy looks towards him, laughing incredulously at how he's frozen in place, unmoving from where he's stood on the carpet, inches away from the phone. "Come on, you're nearer to it than I am. Don't be lazy."
He can't answer it. He can't face it.
"Can you get it? Please?"
There must be something about his voice, about the way he's pleading, that makes Amy do what he asks. Maybe she thinks it's something to do with prison, that he's still not over what happened in there. Maybe she views him as something fragile.
"Hello?"
He waits, breath held.
Amy holds the phone out to him. "It's for you."
Ste shakes his head. He can't talk to Brendan, can't face it. Their last conversation is still ringing in his head, Brendan's words echoing back to him. Speaking to him will only make Ste miss him more, and remind him that he won't be seeing him next week.
Amy puts her hand over the speaker, talking to him in hushed whispers. "Steven. Take it."
He doesn't have a choice. When Amy's disappeared into her bedroom he considers putting the phone down, not giving Brendan the chance to make him forgive him. He knows he will; he knows he won't be able to resist.
"Hello?" His voice is tentative, not abrupt and cold like he hoped it would be. He loves him. He's missed him, and all of this - the silence, the days spent without hearing his voice - it all feels unbearably childish. He shouldn't have walked away so easily at the last visit. He should have held onto him for longer.
"Ste!"
His heart drops. It's not Brendan.
"Doug, hey."
"You okay?"
He doesn't want to be rude. He doesn't want to tell Doug that he's not the person he wants to speak to.
He masks his voice. "Yeah, fine. You?" Something about the background noise sounds different, namely that there is no noise. Amy had told him that every time she called him when he was inside she could hear mens voices or the sound of pool cues. Now there's silence.
"Wait, where are you?" He does a mental calculation in his head: it's been more than a week since he was released.
"At Lynsey's."
Ste's sure he's smiling on the other end of the line.
"That's amazing." He feels incredibly selfish. He forgot about Doug's release date, forgot to congratulate him. "And you saw your parents?"
'Yeah, a few days ago. Luckily the black eye you gave me had healed by then."
"Doug, I'm so sorry -"
"Forget about it. I just like bringing it up once in a while, torturing you."
"It's working, trust me." He's desperate to keep the conversation going, to not let any silences get in to give Doug an opportunity to ask about Brendan. Maybe Doug already knows more than he does; he could have seen something in his last few days. He could know that Brendan's already moved on without him.
"What are you doing tonight, Ste?"
He doesn't tell him the truth, that his evening will most likely consist of reading the kids a story before getting an early night, closing his eyes and imagining Brendan's with him, trying to wash his sheets in the middle of the night to avoid another excruciating kitchen encounter with Amy. He has some dignity left.
"Not much. Why?"
"Fancy coming round to our place? Lynsey's made some food."
"I don't want to interrupt anything." He can't stand the thought of playing gooseberry and watching them being all over each other. He wants them to be happy, but not that happy.
"Don't be silly. I'm asking you, aren't I? I wouldn't if I didn't want you to come. She's made enough food to feed a small army."
"I don't know. It's getting late, and -"
"Late? Ste, it's only five thirty. Live a little."
He realises that's exactly what he hasn't been doing in recent days. It's felt like he's just been existing.
"Alright." He repeats it, trying to install some conviction into it this time. "Sure. Give me your address and I'll get the bus." He scribbles down the address; he's vaguely heard of the area, and he knows that it's in the kind of road that he and Amy could only dream about living in. He makes a note to never invite Doug to his place. He might find it a step down after prison.
When he puts the phone down, he goes to find Amy.
"That was Doug. He's out now. He invited me to his place."
He waits, hoping that she'll tell him that she doesn't want him to go, that she needs him to stay in with her and the kids. Instead her face breaks into a smile. Fuck.
"That's brilliant! Have a great time." She kisses his cheek, and he steels himself to act for an entire evening.
::::::
Lynsey's house is just as nice as he'd imagined. He knows she can't be earning much with her teaching job, but it's the kind of place that he doubts he'll ever do more than visit; he couldn't afford this place, not even if he manages to get a job stacking shelves.
He's nervous when he knocks. He's dressed down, just some jeans and a hoodie, and he's raked his hands through his hair so many times that he's sure it looks a state. Lynsey's immaculate when she answers the door. It's a shock to see her outside of prison. She's in casual clothing, swapping the formal shirts and black trousers for a skirt and a patterned top.
She seems just as awkward as he is. He doesn't know whether she's forgiven him for hurting Doug. She smiles, and there's a moment when he goes to hug her but then stops, unsure of his place. He doesn't want her to think that he's being inappropriate, so he settles for following her inside the door when she stands back, wiping his feet hastily on the carpet, taking off his jacket when she nods over to the hanger.
"Thanks for having me round." He wants to have it said as soon as possible, aware that having him over probably wasn't her idea.
"No problem. You look good."
"Cheers." He knows he looks healthier since he left. He's been sleeping more; he hasn't dreamed of Warren at all since he left. The marks on his body from the rape have gone. He's started eating properly again, trying some new dishes and sampling some of Amy's cooking, which has had more misses than hits. He's been out in the sun more and its given him back some of his colour.
He fills any gaps in conversation with questions - how her job's going, how everyone is. Lynsey seems to know who everyone consists of.
"Brendan's doing okay."
He feels suddenly alert, clinging onto every word. It feels good to hear his name again. To Amy, Brendan's just another intimidating guy that she saw in the visiting room. She doesn't know who he is.
"Has he been staying out of trouble?" The answer matters. For Brendan. For both of them.
"I think so. I think he knows he has to, for you."
"Since when has he ever listened to me? To anyone?" But hope's rising within him.
"I think you're good for him, Ste. More than you might realise."
He's about to say more, about to drop the pretense that he doesn't care and ask everything, but he hears the sound of footsteps and a door opening, and they're not alone anymore. The moments passed.
It's surreal to see Doug. It's been such a short amount of time, but he feels like something's wrong - feels like he should be alongside Ethan and Brendan, that they should be back in their cell with the peeling wallpaper and the lumpy mattresses and the single pillow.
They hug, and Ste breaks into a grin for the first time that day, memories flooding back to him. It's comforting.
"It's so good to see you." He can speak with honesty now. It's freeing.
"You too. Thanks for coming."
"Course." His earlier reluctance seems stupid now. This is what he needs: a friend. A friend who understands what he went through. He looks around the room. "Your place is amazing. Have you properly moved in then?"
"It's the first thing I did after my parents left."
"Where do they think you're staying?"
"At a friend's place," Doug says sheepishly. "Me and Lyns thought we'd wait a few months till we told them. As far as they'll know we met through mutual friends." He puts his arm around her. Ste looks away; it always feels like he's intruding on something private. "Want to see the rest of it?"
Doug takes him from room to room. Ste tries not to be open mouthed, tries not to let his awe show through. He doesn't want either of them to know how different their lives are. It's not that he and Amy don't have things - they can afford stuff. They've got toys for the kids and decent enough furniture and curtains. But he knows there's something about the flat - something that speaks of their age, of the fact that they have to scrape together every last penny to pay the bills each month. Somehow he doesn't think Lynsey and Doug will have the same problem.
"It's amazing." They've come to the end of the tour, back where they started in front of the door.
They both beam.
"So, Ste." Doug's voice is cautious, as though he's trying to negotiate with a ticking time bomb.
"What?" He's getting suspicious now. He thought he'd be led to the table, that they'd start dinner.
"You can say no, but - me and Lynsey thought we'd take you out."
Ste feels immediately tense. He should have known this was a trap.
"No."
"But -"
"You said I could say no."
"Listen. Just for a second."
He's already sensing that you can say no was just to get him on side.
"Fine. Go on then." He already wants to run. He doesn't think Doug and Lynsey have a quiet meal at a restaurant in mind. And even if they did, he doesn't have the money to pay for it. He spent what little he had left for himself on new clothes.
"Why don't we go to a club?"
Time was when he would have liked someone to join him. Someone who knows who he is, what he does. Someone who wouldn't judge him for getting off with another guy. Now it's exactly the kind of thing he's trying to avoid. He's had enough of that life.
"Sorry Doug, but going to some straight club and being in a room with a bunch of drunk strangers isn't really my idea of fun." He can imagine it now: being surrounded by couples and people kissing and dancing and feeling like the odd one out.
"Except it's not going to be a straight club," Lynsey says, exchanging a smile with Doug.
"What are you on about?"
"We're taking you to a gay club!"
"You what?" He looks between them, lost for words.
Doug grabs his jacket and then his shoes. Lynsey does the same. They seem to be under the impression that they're all leaving together. Now.
"Wait - you can't -" He has to stop this. He's not going to a gay club. No way.
"Why not?" Doug asks, eyebrows raised, daring for Ste to challenge him.
"Cos...what if someone recognises you and Lynsey? What if they see you two together, and realise that you're going out with each other?"
"Ste, I highly doubt we're going to run into any of the people she works with where we're going. Relax."
"But -" But Brendan, is what he wants to say. But what about Brendan? He'd hate all this. He'd hate knowing that Ste's going to a place like that, that he's exposing himself to the possibility of being with someone who isn't him.
Maybe that's why Doug's doing all this. Maybe he knows just how much Brendan would hate it.
"No arguments. Come on, get your coat. You've pulled." Doug winks at him.
::::::
It's one of the clubs he's been to before, but he doesn't tell Doug and Lynsey that. He's had success here in the past; every time he's gone he's ended the night with someone. He's half scared that he'll bump into someone he recognises. It's not that he's got anything to be ashamed of - he knows that Doug and Lynsey wouldn't care about what or who he did in the past, but if they come on to him then he has to remember why he can't go there. He'll remember that he's got something better in his life now, and thinking of that will make him think of Brendan all over again.
He still doesn't know where he stands. If they're together, if they're over -
The idea terrifies him.
He expects his friends to be overwhelmed by the whole experience, but they seem more comfortable than he is. Doug's getting a kick out of all the men eyeing him up. He rushes over to Ste and Lynsey with drinks and a handful of paper.
"Look how many numbers I just got!"
"I hope you're not trying to tell me something," Lynsey says, nudging him.
"No." He laughs, kissing her. "I just never realised I was this desirable, that's all."
Ste snorts, covering it by taking the shot he's ordered and downing it in one.
"Woah, go easy!" Doug's merely sipping at his drink.
"Sorry." Ste wipes the back of his mouth. He doesn't want to embarrass them, doesn't want them to think that he's chasing oblivion, even if that's exactly what he's trying to do. He can't help but think that the night would be easier to get through if he had a few drinks in him. He's already got it in his head that he might call Amy in a bit and ask her to come up with an excuse, some fake emergency so that he has to go home.
He's a coward.
"What do you think?" Doug asks him, gesturing around the club.
"Not bad. Music's alright." He smiles, thinking how much Brendan would hate what they're playing. Noise, he'd call it. Painful noise.
He misses him.
"Want to have a dance?"
"Maybe later." The truth is, he's only ever danced when he's been drunk enough. He would never have the confidence otherwise.
Lynsey's looking at him. He can see it, and he tries to ignore it at first, but it's getting more noticeable. He meets her eyes.
"This was a bad idea, wasn't it?" She asks, and he can see the doubt forming there. She thinks there's something wrong with him, and it makes him feel like she might be right.
"No. It's just a bit weird, that's all. To be here, after three months of being inside." He's been using this as an excuse too much lately. He's lost count of the number of times he's said it to Amy; it's weird, it's strange, I just have to get used to it again. He's sick of saying it.
"Actually, you know what? I will have that dance." Fuck the fact that he's still sober. Fuck the fact that he can feel everything - peoples eyes on him, and the discomfort of being in the spotlight as Doug lets out a cheer, him and Lynsey finishing their drinks and discarding their glasses, making their way to the centre of the dance floor. There's something so simple about the way they are with each other. He envies how they can dance and smile and not care. It's like a weights been lifted off them. Ste doesn't think he's ever seen Doug this happy.
He tries to let the music take him over. It's loud enough to burst his eardrums, and he concentrates on the rhythm of it. He's not the best dancer - Brendan's told him that - but there's something about the way he can abandon himself to it. He forgets after a while; forgets that he's not entirely coordinated, that there are people more impressive than him, better looking, who believe in themselves that much more.
He only stops when he needs the toilet. He shouts over the crowd, telling Doug and Lynsey that he'll be back in a minute, and makes his way to the bathroom. He's surprised that he can still remember where they are - he can recall very detail down to the design. He thought he'd been too drunk to remember. It's flooding back to him all at once: the men he fucked in here. Being pushed into a bathroom stall, taken roughly from behind. There had been little room for intimacy in the encounters. He hadn't wanted that - he had Rae and Amy to hold him, to be there for him. He came here to fuck.
It's strange being in here alone.
It's when he's washing his hands afterwards that he goes stock still, caught up on a reflection in the mirror. He can't place him at first; he knows the man's familiar, knows that they share a history, but it's been years since he last saw him.
It's only when the man sees him too, his face growing unwelcoming, that Ste realises who he is. He swears discreetly, although he wouldn't mind if the man heard him; his distaste for him isn't a secret.
"Didn't think I'd see you here," John Paul says. Even his stance is smug. It's like he thinks he's caught Ste in the act.
"I was gonna say the same thing." He scowls. Out of everyone he could have run into it -
"Since when did you..." John Paul gestures aimlessly with his hands.
"What?" Ste grunts, wanting this conversation to be over with as soon as possible.
"Start liking men, to put it bluntly. Last I heard you were chasing that Barnes girl around."
"I wasn't chasing anyone." Ste says, affronted. "And she's the mother of my kids, so."
"Wow. Ste Hay, gay."
Ste sniffs, slumping against the wall, refusing to look away from John Paul. He's not going to give him the satisfaction of thinking that he's got anything to be ashamed of.
"What are you doing here anyway? Cruising for your next break up?"
John Paul laughs at him, but he looks bruised.
"Just out for a night with some friends. What about you - you here alone?"
"No," Ste says pointedly, although he has been in the past, many a time. "I'm with my mates." He doesn't add that he met them in prison. He's not sure if John Paul's up to date with his activities of late.
"Right. Well I should leave you to it then." For some reason Ste doesn't think John Paul believes him abut Doug and Lynsey. He's tempted to drag him over and introduce them, just to prove that he's not completely pathetic. But that would involve spending more time with him.
"Yeah. Yeah, you should." He turns his back on him, not offering a goodbye. He hears the sound of the bathroom door swinging on its hinges as John Paul leaves.
::::::
"I thought you'd fallen in." Doug says when he returns, holding out another drink for Ste to take.
"Huh?"
"You were so long in there."
"Oh yeah, sorry."
"Hey, don't worry about it. Your toilet habits are your own business."
"Shut up. It wasn't anything like that. I met someone." Ste sips at his drink; it's nice and fruity, just how he likes it.
When he looks up, he sees Doug and Lynsey staring at him. They've got big, stupid grins on their faces.
"What?" He asks, self conscious.
"Tell us about him!" Lynsey's all but squealing. They seem to have already made the transition into an actual, proper friendship.
Ste's horrified when he realises what they mean. "No, not like that." He feels like he's shouting. "Gross. I bumped into someone I knew ages ago, that's all. We went to school together. He was a right twat. Still is."
"Point him out to us," Doug asks, and Ste's about to tell him that there's no way that he'll find him in amongst the crowd, but he does; John Paul's over by the bar, flanked by friends and downing drink after drink.
Doug and Lynsey see him looking, eyeing him up.
"He looks cute," Lynsey says, sipping at her drink.
"Yeah, not too bad."
Ste wrinkles his nose at the both of them. "You kidding me? He's an idiot."
Doug shrugs. "He might be, but he's not exactly disgusting."
Ste shudders. "You're kidding me right? I wouldn't touch him with a barge pole."
"Come on, Ste. What if he's single, you were single -"
"Which I'm not," Ste interjects. He's not even sure what he is, not in any concrete terms, but he doesn't feel single. He feels like he belongs to someone. That someone belongs to him.
"But if you were. There's seriously no way you'd go there?"
"Mate, I'd rather cut my tongue out. He's a McQueen. He's John Paul. That's crazy."
They don't bring it up again after that.
::::::
Brendan
He has to speak to him.
He's receiving a visit from Cheryl in a few days. The closer it gets, the more he realises how much he wants it to be Steven instead.
He fucks everything up. He's always known it, but it's becoming more and more apparent. It wasn't enough that he had to ruin what he had with Eileen and the kids. Now it's extended to every area of his life, and the things which matter. The person - the one person who matters the most.
He needs to fix it. They've had arguments before, lots of them, but this feels different. He can't solve it by walking down the hallway to Steven's cell. He can't see him in the space of a few seconds and find out a way to make it right. Steven's miles away now, out of reach. He's a phone call away, but it feels like an insurmountable distance.
It's in the evening when Brendan dials his number. Steven hasn't picked up in days, but he takes the chance that something will snap in him, and this will be his chance.
He's wrong. It's her again: Steven's girl.
"Hello?"
He's about to do what he always does and hang up. He shocks himself when he doesn't.
"Is Steven there?"
Fuck. It's too late now. He can't take it back. He puts his hand over the speaker so Amy won't be able to hear, taking several deep breaths to steady himself. There's a good chance that she won't recognise his voice - how can she? He's never spoken to her. She barely knows he exists.
"Who is it?"
"Bernard." It's the first thing he thinks of. He can't risk her remembering the name Brendan Brady from all those times that he was splashed on the front covers of newspapers following his arrest.
"Bernard? He can almost sense her frowning. They seem tight, her and Steven. He gets the impression that she knows all the people in his life, and he doesn't fit. "Sorry, but Ste's not here at the moment."
He nearly asks her whether Steven told her to say that, but he knows he'll sound fucking crazy if he does. She's bound to realise that something's not quite right.
"Right. Do you know when he'll be back?" He tries to keep his tone measured, not revealing how he really feels about the possibility of Steven being out at this time of night. He's an adult for Christ's sake. He's allowed to do whatever he wants.
"I'm not sure, but he just text me saying that he's at a club with some friends, so it might be a late one." Amy pauses, and she seems to realise that she's said too much, because she backtracks. "Sorry, how do you know Ste? Are you a mate, or..."
"An old friend." An old friend who she's never heard of before. He's failing at this, badly. He's lied to the police more convincingly.
"I'll tell him you called if you want. Does he have your number?"
"Yeah." Yeah, he has the prison number. "Thanks. Bye." He puts the phone down abruptly.
Brendan leans his head up against the wall. It's pounding, feels like it's about to explode.
He's at a club. Steven's at a club, and Brendan can only guess who these friends are that have taken him there. Lynsey won't know any better - she's blinded by her love for the Yank, always has been, and she's a good girl. But Douglas. Fucking Douglas.
He wants this. He's planned it from the start, getting Steven away from him and finding him someone better. Someone harmless who'll treat Steven like a delicate, dainty little doll. He won't hurt him like Brendan's hurt him, but he won't love him like Brendan loves him either.
He stalks from the room, hurrying back to his cell. Ethan's not there, and he's never been more grateful for an empty room. Except it's not empty, not entirely: there are officers outside, keeping an eye on things like they always are. He's never alone. He never even gets a chance at being normal.
He hates him. He hates Steven, hates that he's out there where Brendan can't touch him, going to clubs and meeting other men. The boy doesn't know how he comes across, doesn't know how he really looks - doesn't know that he could have anyone he wants. But maybe tonight he'll realise it. Maybe someone else will make him understand.
Brendan punches his fist into the wall. There's the sound of crumbling plaster and expletives falling from his mouth as he shakes his hand, trying to dislodge the pain. He blows on his knuckles, tears springing to his eyes, and he swears again when his anger doesn't subside. Steven's done this to him. Steven's made him weak, made him love him.
It's all because of that stupid visit. If he'd just said the right things, told Steven that he'd reveal the truth to Cheryl, or at the very least that he'd cancel her visit and see him instead -
He made the boy think that he didn't want him. Made him leave, rejected and disheartened. He'd seen Steven's face before he left. He looked miserable, like Brendan had knocked the hope out of him. It's all his fault. Again.
Brendan rushes over to his bed, grabbing hold of the sheets and getting underneath, trying to ignore the searing pain coming from his injured hand. He pulls down his trousers and boxers, cupping his hand roughly around his balls, squeezing them and feeling as his cock comes to life. He's angry and he's hard and he's hurt, so hurt that it feels like he'll never stop feeling the pain of it. He strips his dick, hard and punishing strokes which make pre-come leak from the tip, pooling over his reddening knuckles. His rhythm is frantic, and he grows frustrated by the fact that he's on the edge, his orgasm curling through him but still out of reach. He imagines Steven touching him, his smooth and warm hands wrapped around Brendan's dick, but it only makes him cry out when it's a fantasy that he has to tap into; when it's so distant from reality.
It's been over a week since he fucked Steven. Over a week since he was inside him, since he felt like all his senses were on fire, when they lay curled together and fell asleep, safe in the knowledge that they'd be waking up together.
Brendan brings his fist up to his mouth, biting on the flesh there, hand still working. It feels like things are flashing in front of his eyes; memories and faces and words, and everything's Steven. Everything's always been Steven.
He comes with a violent shudder, come streaking over his hand. It feels like his body's convulsing with aftershocks, his legs rising, his knees drawn up underneath the sheets. He's managed to keep the bedcovers relatively clean aside from a speck of come that's landed on them. He cleans it up with his finger, pulling his underwear and trousers up and making his way to the sink, watching as the mess he's made is washed away with the water.
He leans his head against the mirror, making it fog up with perspiration. His breaths sound more like pants as he recovers. Something's still coursing through him: anger or arousal or both.
This hasn't helped. He wants sex more than ever, and he wants Steven more than ever. He wants him here, now. For the first time he regrets not listening to the boy, to not allowing him to stay. Guilt consumes him for thinking it, but it's there in his head: he wants Steven here, and maybe he shouldn't have argued against it.
Brendan jumps when there's a knock at the door. There's a fleeting moment when he thinks it's Steven.
Brushing himself down, deciding that he looks presentable, that no one would suspect what he's just done, he opens the door. It's Kevin.
"Can I come in?"