Notes: I know the wait on this has been a long one and thanks everyone for the amazing reviews and also the lovely messages and support over on Tumblr even though I've been dragging my feet like crazy. You are all awesome and I honestly dunno what I'd do without you. This is probably the hardest thing I've ever had to write. It's also long as BALLS.

Title and lyrics from the song Another Love by Tom Odell (utterly stunning song that I badly recommend and that might make you cry).

Warnings: Graphic conversations concerning childhood sexual abuse.

Word Count ~ 11,000

and if somebody hurts you, yeah I want to fight,
but my hand's been broken one too many times
and I want to cry I want to learn to love,
but all my tears have been used up.

The first thing Ste notices is - he's warm.

It's followed slowly by the realisation that he's slept through the night which is then followed by the memories of why.

There's sunlight streaming in through the still open curtains and he opens his eyes right into it and promptly shuts them but not before he sees Brendan's hand curled into the mattress right in front of his chin. Ste's laid half on his front and Brendan's plastered across his side and back, one leg pushed up between both of Ste's own, one foot hooked around one of his ankles and his arm thrown over his body like a shield against the world. He can feel Brendan's stubble against his shoulder, the puff of his breath against his skin.

He's still sleepy, can feel that heavy pull of sinking like gentle pressure, and he sighs, nuzzles his nose against Brendan's hand until he gets his face hidden under his palm to protect his eyes from the sunlight.

He's off again in seconds.

The second time he wakes up it's to a different sort of heat.

He's on his back and there's a weight between his thighs and damp suction against the skin over his ribs. Ste moves his arms, leaden and lazy with sleep, and threads his slow fingers through soft hair. Brendan peers up at him, bottom lip and tongue still touching his body, mouth open and wet and he knows where this is going.

Brendan rubs his stubble back and forth and Ste breathes a laugh, watches as Brendan walks two fingers down his stomach, over his hip and beneath his balls. Brendan looks at him with mischief in his eyes as he rubs those fingers against Ste's hole and slips inside his body, still loose, still slick, and Brendan makes a noise, a low and pleased little moan of approval. Ste's dick fills, hardens between his own stomach and Brendan's chest and the friction of Brendan's hair makes him shiver.

Brendan smiles and drops his eyes, drags his soft lips back across Ste's stomach, fingers him slowly and presses up firm, sure and measured rub of fingertips to make his toes curl against the mattress. Ste sinks into the sensation, enjoys the attentive focus Brendan lavishes on his body, feels precious and worshipped because nobody has ever touched him like Brendan has, nobody has ever made him feel the weight of two people's entire existence through the act of sex.

Brendan kisses and laps against his skin, nuzzles Ste's hip with his nose and the tickle of hair from his moustache, cushion-soft press of lips into the dip between his hip and thigh, soft suction across and Brendan strokes the flat of his tongue against Ste's balls, takes one in his mouth and rolls and wets and makes Ste throw his head back into the pillows. He knows from experience that Brendan will do this forever if Ste lets him, fucking oral fetish eight miles long, so he pulls at Brendan's hair gently, makes a slightly pathetic little noise in the back of his throat that gets the vibration of a dark chuckle reverberating through his entire pelvis like a shockwave.

He also knows from experience that Brendan loves to torture him.

There's warmth and wetness against the base of his dick, long, slow lick of Brendan's tongue up and down the length of him, teasing little flicks at the head but the low, heavy thrust of fingers deep inside and it makes him crazy, makes his skin itch and tingle and he's arching his hips of the bed until Brendan's laying one bent arm low across his stomach and fucking smirking, innocently fluttering eyelashes and bright gaze.

Brendan tuts and shakes his head like he's calling Ste impatient without words and Ste's chest heaves and falls and he's too heavy, too puddled into a liquid mess to really do a damn thing. The touch inside him is relentless and Brendan watches him with dark eyes, mouth sucking wet kisses against the skin of his cock gently, taking the head between his lips and sucking lightly, inch of slow up and down that's light as air. His muscles tremble and start to strain, building pressure blooming from somewhere deep and spreading out like running heat, pushing through his limbs and taking control from his oxygen deprived brain.

He's right at the edge, stone's throw from falling over but it's not enough; Brendan's clever fingers and too-smart mouth keep him hovering, Brendan reads him too well, knows how best to draw it out until Ste's about to honest-to-God kick him in the back of the head and maybe Brendan knows that too because he's suddenly going down on Ste's cock, taking him in right to the base, sucking and licking, wet and hot and friction, and he fucks Ste with his fingers, rough and hard and perfect.

He comes with blinding suddenness, free-falling out of control and possibly screaming, he's not sure. Every single nerve ending in his possession sparks and ignites and he's vaguely aware he's clawing at Brendan's neck and shoulders, arching up because Brendan's letting him now, letting Ste thrust up into his willing mouth until he's ridden out the last of his orgasm.

He sinks back to the bed, completely loose and sprawled like a cat in the sun. He can't open his eyes or actually speak and Brendan's kissing a path up his body, his chest and neck and it takes him a whole minute to realise that Brendan's pressing his lips against his bruises over and over and so gentle he hardly dares breathe. It's suddenly like all the air has been sucked out of the room. This is Brendan and him, Ste and Brendan. They're together and Ste nearly died and Brendan nearly watched and now they're here and Brendan's kissing his bruises, kissing the wounds that almost killed him.

He cups Brendan's neck, cradles him close, wraps his legs around Brendan's hips and Brendan's so light, so fragile against him. He pushes and Brendan moves with him and Ste gets him back against the mattress, legs spread over Brendan's hips and body curled over him protectively. Brendan's hands flatten over his back, almost cover the entire width of his body, and Ste kisses him open, licks inside his mouth and reaches back to position Brendan's cock until he can push back, one smooth slide until he's seated in Brendan's lap, skin to skin.

Brendan gasps into his mouth and cups his face and Ste rolls his hips, grips Brendan's hands and slides them against the mattress and pins him there, curls their fingers together to have something solid to push against as he rides Brendan slowly. It still feels unbelievable, nerves inside him still sensitive and tingling, and watching Brendan fall apart underneath him is mesmerising and he can't look away. Brendan does, turns his head and buries his face against the arm Ste's got pinned, mouths against his skin and bites down like he needs something to ground him. He's losing control and Ste's a witness to it and it's fucking beautiful.

"Steven - " he breathes on a broken sigh and it's the first word spoken all morning and this isn't a dream, this isn't a memory. It's real and solid and theirs and it hits him like a sack of flour.

He feels Brendan jerk and tense and Ste rides him through it, grinds down close and takes every inch of him to the base, kisses the corner of his mouth, his jaw and underneath his ear and he whispers against Brendan's skin, "I love you," and Brendan chokes out a desperate cry, a shattered oh, God, and Ste feels the force of his orgasm rattle through him, punch out of him like a shout.

He soothes Brendan down, strokes the fluttering pulse in his wrist, pets his hair and kisses him, feels a surge of protectiveness so powerful it shakes him a bit because Brendan's always been vulnerable after sex and it's always tugged at something in him but now, the differences in him, the things Ste knows, that instinct is in overdrive.

"I thought you'd never wake up," Brendan says eventually.

Ste folds his arms across Brendan's chest and rests his chin against them, against his torn up wrists, still sore but in a way he's used to. "I slept well."

"Yeah, so did I. You're like my Nytol or something."

"Night nurse," Ste scoffs and laughs. "Got a thing for a bloke in uniform."

"We talkin' scrubs or we talkin' full on dress and white heels?"

"Nuh, heels, obviously." Brendan laughs and pushes him, dumps him over onto the bed and Ste bounces and then cringes, searches around for something to wipe up the mess they've made and settles on one of Brendan's t-shirts that's crumpled on the carpet over the side of the bed.

Brendan bitches at him in complete, utter offence and Ste darts out of the way of his grabby hands and threatens to drop the sticky garment onto his head if he doesn't stop. Brendan wrestles him down, drags him bodily off the bed by his hands and up into his arms and kisses him, doesn't stop as he shuffles Ste into the bathroom and drops him to his feet in the walk-in shower - since you wanna get clean, let's do it the normal, non-disgusting way.

Ste's giddy as hell, can't stop splashing Brendan in the face with shower water he collects in his cupped hands. Brendan plays resigned patience but Ste can see that he's loving it, loves backing him against the tiles and holding him close, slippery wet and warm. He's in a weird enough mood that he doesn't feel the least touch of embarrassment when he asks Brendan if he can wash his hair, all of it, and Brendan doubles over laughing, slips against the floor and ends up sprawled back against one wall.

He chokes out, "you're ridiculous," and Ste hums, wraps his arms around Brendan's neck and goads him.

"Come on, it'll feel really good."

Ste gets his own way and tries hard not to think as usual and the thrill it sends up his spine that Brendan's so hard and cold and rock solid against almost everyone in the world but so soft with him.

He gets shampoo and lathers up his hands and stands close, bodies pressed together, scrubs his fingers through Brendan's hair and against the back of his neck and Brendan lets him, shivers and sighs into his touch and gets goosebumps across his skin. Ste can take in all of him like this, can touch endless skin and muscle with his hands and eyes and he manoeuvres Brendan under the shower spray, watches water sluice off him as he tips his head back, works the lather out of his hair with one hand and strokes his other across Brendan's chest and stomach, rakes his fingers through the dark hair there as well and Brendan outright proves him one-hundred percent right by actually moaning shamelesslyand fuck if his dick's not trying to get hard all over again at that.

Brendan dries up and offers to go next door and fetch him some clothes to change into from his room because he's not ready to get out from under the spray of the power shower just yet. He's gone ages and Ste's full on coloured pink when he hears him come back with a slam of the door and he gets out, wraps himself up in a towel to investigate. His bag's on the bed, looks full as well like Brendan's actually done his packing for him, and Brendan's grinning at him. Ste stands in the bathroom doorway feeling dopey until Brendan comes close and kisses him, pushes past him then pops his toothbrush in the little glass next to the sink.

"Moving me in?" Ste asks through a smile that he cannot control.

"It's a big step, I know. Brought you breakfast, too, 'cause basically - I'm amazing," Brendan croons and kisses him again up against the bathroom doorframe.

He has as well, there's two styrofoam cups and a bag on the little table in the corner of the room. The radio's on and Brendan's folded their suits from last night and slung them over the dressing table chair and Ste feels a bit like he's dreaming , head still all over the place and slow to process that he's allowed to feel good about this, they deserve to after everything. He's so used to the anger and confusion and disappointment that immediately follows every good thing between them that he's mentally bracing himself but then -

- then he watches Brendan shrug off his coat, watches him take the cups out of the holder, watches him move about their room with easy grace, and it's never been more obvious that Brendan isn't running away anymore and never will again. Last night he'd pressed two years worth of lost time into Ste's skin and sealed it there with a lifetime of promises.

They end up sprawled across the bed, Brendan propped up against a thousand pillows at his back and Ste laid with his head on Brendan's thigh and his legs thrown up in the air against the headboard and wall at Brendan's back, munching on chocolate chip muffins and drinking sweet coffee to the sound of the radio and their lazy chatter.

Brendan grows quiet and Ste asks him, "you okay?" and Brendan strokes a hand through his hair, idly fiddles it between his fingers.

"It's gonna be a rough day."

He slips a hand under the soft material of Brendan's white t-shirt and splays it across his belly. "Yeah, well, it's supposed to be, innit? You're allowed to struggle today."

"Yeah."

"Bren, you're gonna be great."

"I said yeah, didn't I? I'm like a Buddhist monk, totally zen."

Ste senses he wants to change the subject so he scoffs. "Pretty sure Buddhist monks don't do what you've done to me in this bed."

"I'm a rebel," Brendan says with a little growl.

"Yeah, I dunno how you're gonna explain that one to Buddha."

"Have you seen Buddha? He's always half naked, he loves it."

"Can't you lot end up in Hell or summat for talkin' about Buddha on the day of a funeral?"

"You lot? What am I an alien?"

"You know what I mean."

"You'll be one of us soon as well, y'know."

Ste laughs but Brendan doesn't and he feels it drop of his face. "What?"

"If you're gonna be shacking up with a Catholic you have to convert, didn't anyone ever tell you that?" Brendan asks, totally serious, eyes wide and earnest.

"Wha - no! Is that - seriously?" he splutters, voice embarrassingly high-pitched and Brendan nods at him. Ste can count the number of times he's stepped foot in a church on one hand. He's never even owned a bible. "Well - how do I do it?"

"Don't worry, it's only a little ceremony. They just cut your penis a bit, that's all."

He's faintly horrified for all of five seconds, so much so that he can't even speak, but then some semblance of sense pokes through and he realises Brendan's mouth is quivering with the tension of trying not to smile.

"You're such a dick," he strops and shoves at Brendan's leg, gives him a sharp slap on his tummy, sounds like a whip cracking and there's a bright red hand print against his pale skin until his t-shirt falls back over it.

Brendan's laughing so hard he can't catch the breath to even protest. "Ow - you actually - I can't - "

"Dick," and it just makes him laugh harder and start to cough while Ste glares at him.

He calms down just enough to blurt out, "if anyone was standing outside the door just then, that'd sound like the weirdest dirty talk ever," and then he's off laughing and choking again. "Dick - just - just that, just dick."

Ste watches Brendan laugh and concedes he can probably let this one go, just this once. He'll do whatever it takes to make this day easier even if it makes him look like a complete tool.

"Cut my bloody penis - genuinely was about to dump you on the spot," he says and Brendan makes a scoffing, snorting noise in the back of his throat.

"You wouldn't do that for me?"

Ste pretends to consider it. "How big a cut we talkin'?"

"Tiny one, might sting a bit. It's okay though, they baptise it afterwards," Brendan says and grins.

"Yeah, alright. I'd do it. For you."

Brendan smile turns smug, today's worries momentarily forgotten. He gives Ste a wink, says yeah you would and Ste shoves him in the side of the face with his ankle, tries to poke him with his toe and Brendan bats at his leg like a cat batting at a ball of string.

He calls Ste ridiculous, again, and Ste calls him kitten, again, and there's a murderer baying for his blood, their blood, the blood they share now, and he was fucking kidnapped the other week and today they bury Lynsey but right now, here with Brendan, none of that stuff can touch him.

Cheryl comes for them close to lunchtime and Brendan sends her packing.

They don't leave the room at all, this soft and hazy little bubble they've created, safety and warmth and just them, shut away from the rest of the world like Ste could stay here forever. Later, Brendan phones Cheryl to bring them up some sandwiches and she actually does, albeit looking like she'd like to bash their heads together but still. Ste manages almost all his lunch and on top of the fact he ate breakfast he's actually feeling pretty proud of his stomach.

He knows Brendan is as well, he's been watching Ste carefully with food for a while now even though he thinks Ste hasn't noticed, and he doesn't overtly show it but he makes a million jokes about Ste's appetite and I wonder what could be using up all your energy? and Ste can tell how relieved he is.

They have to be at the church for two and they dress together. It's strange and domestic and Brendan's got a black shirt and a white shirt and he asks Ste which he thinks is better, "black, you look gorgeous in all black," and he does up Brendan's buttons, strokes his knuckles up the skin of his stomach and chest because Brendan's getting quiet again. He's all soft and hewn down and big, wide, blue eyes like he gets when he doesn't really know how to process what he's feeling but he doesn't want to hide it either. Ste touches his neck, says, "yeah, you'll do," and Brendan dips his head and kisses his fingers.

Ste stands in front of the mirror and fiddles with his tie and Brendan comes up behind him, grips his shoulders and turns him, takes the edge of the tie between his fingers and slides it off slowly.

"Like you better without," he murmurs softly and flicks open Ste's top buttons, presses a line of soft kisses against the dip beneath his throat.

"It's not your funeral, though, is it?"

"Lysney wouldn't like it."

"And how d'you know that, eh?"

"She told me one time."

"Really."

"Yup. Said she liked this bit in particular - " Brendan murmurs and touches his collarbone.

He looks into Brendan's face, the way he's holding himself together, the way he hasn't stopped touching Ste all day, subconscious need for reassurance maybe, maybe just because he can, they've always touched each other easily even when they weren't allowed, and says, "well, owt I can do to make Lysney's day better," and it gets him Brendan's hand stroking across his shoulder and the fond, slow sweep of his eyelashes.

Cheryl comes a third time, barges her way in when Ste answers the door to her frantic knocking and she's flustered and upset, doesn't think she looks right in her black suit. Ste's inclined to agree and then Brendan voices it, "it's not you, Chez," like he's Gok Wan today or something. She nods, rushes off, and it's half one, they're going to be late but when she comes back, red lipstick and flowers on her dress and in her hair, Brendan tells her she looks perfect and he's right.

Ste fetches Amy and the kids and Brendan wrangles them all downstairs and out to the car. He sits in the back, Lucas on his knee, and tells him and Leah where they're going, tells them they're saying goodbye to a very important friend and they have to be on their best behaviour. Brendan catches his eye in the rearview mirror and Ste holds his gaze.

It's a bright day, clear and cool, sun shining and breeze starting to pick up, whipping the fallen leaves into swirling eddies of red and orange. The church yard is autumn-blushed, dance of light through the gold turning yew trees across solid grey and black headstones, the engraved names and dates and here lies and rest in peace.

It's busy, Lynsey's friends and family milling around and waiting for the hearse to arrive.

Ste keeps hold of Lucas, some compulsion to keep him close, sense of loss and grief thick in the air. They find Eileen and the boys and Brendan stands with his hand against the back of Padraig's neck, same closeness, same compulsion.

"You okay, Ames?"

She's staring out across the graveyard and she jumps when Ste says her name, smiles at him, tired and stiff. "I'm fine."

"Bren, could you just watch the kids for a minute?"

"Ste - "

"We're just gonna go for a walk, won't be long."

Brendan nods, takes a bored and sleepy Lucas from his arms, looks concerned but Ste gives him a reassuring smile. He puts an arm through Amy's and pulls her away, takes the path through the stones that leads around the side of the church building.

"Ste, I told you - "

"No, come on. You never let me get away with I'm fine. What's goin' on?"

She sighs and goes quiet and Ste reads the names as they pass by, Jennifer Finch, age twenty-four, Jonathan Loughborough, age fifty-nine.

Eventually she says, "just thinkin' about Sarah," and he threads his fingers through hers and grips her tightly. "Murdered. Just like Lynsey. Just like Rae. Just like you nearly were."

"I know."

"I'm tired of losin' people."

"You'll never lose me, Ames."

She looks across at him. "What if they don't catch Walker before we have to go back?"

Ste's heart kicks up instantly like Walker's name's flicked a switch. He hasn't dared think too much about the village, about his home, the place he was drugged and taken and beaten. It's over a week before they fly back and it's like he can't see past it, too foggy and impenetrable, far off in the distance just like everything else that's happening to him.

"I don't know."

"Ste, that's not good enough. I don't think they'll catch him, I honestly don't."

He shivers and goes cold because - nor does he. "Amy, it's not worth thinkin' about now, okay? We've got all today to get through yet, let's just - focus on the funeral?"

"Lucas!" Ste turns at the sound of Brendan's voice and he's just in time to see his giggling son dash past himself and Amy, crashing between gravestones with Brendan stood at the top of the path with his arms out in frustration. "I ain't chasing you, I'm tellin' you - "

"Come on," Lucas shouts, half ducking behind Elizabeth Lloyd, aged eighty-seven.

Brendan breaks in seconds, trudges up the path towards them and he makes a duck around the stone but Lucas is too fast, darts out of his reach and speeds off back up to the front. Amy laughs and Brendan sighs and Ste goes after him but someone else gets there first; an old bloke wearing a smart waistcoat, slicked back hair and salt and pepper beard. He picks up Ste's son and speaks in a low, gravelly voice, "hey there, mischief."

Ste's instantly on edge, hot bolt of anger through him at this guy's fucking nerve. "Err, d'you mind?" He storms up and drags Lucas out of the man's arms, gives him a frown and holds his son close. "I don't even know you."

"Don't have to get rude, son," the guy says, drawling and cold and he looks Ste up and down, smirk in place that makes his skin crawl. "Name's Seamus."

He holds a hand out but Ste's frozen, arms locking around Lucas tightly, blood turned to crystals of ice, too thick to pump through his veins anymore and he can't breathe from the lack of oxygen to his brain. Waves of cold sickness blast against his exposed skin, this man just fucking touched his son.

This man fucking touched the man that Ste loves.

Something like hours passes in silence, sheer stretching and boundless horror and utter paralysing shock, what is he doing here, how could they not have prepared for this, this is him, this is the monster that hurt - and he claws his way back to himself, thinks Brendan and it's like a smack to the face the way it clears his head.

Ste jerks, breathes a shaking, stuttered breath, looks briefly into Seamus' eyes but Seamus isn't looking at Ste. He's gazing over Ste's shoulder and he turns and sees Brendan, drip white and still as a rabbit in headlights.

He's looking down at the ground, expression of shame and fear, far away like he's gone somewhere else entirely.

Ste has to do something, has to diffuse this before Brendan comes back to himself to find his father's eyes studying him like a half-dissected animal in a lab. What he wants to do is scream in this fucker's face, call him sick, phone the police, get his hands around Seamus' skull and smash him against a headstone so he can understand what it means to be at someone else's mercy. Anger rolls through him like hot, molten lead. It glows and burns like embers, tries to curl around his bones and muscles and take charge of his body and he wants to let it, wants to finally give into all the anxiety and helpless anger from the past two weeks that he's tamped down on and crushed underneath his delirious but too-brief happiness, wants to take all the regret and pain and fear from the last two years and the scars it's left on him and gouge every bit of it under Seamus' skin where it rightfully belongs.

This man has already taken so much from him and he's not getting another piece, not while Ste sill breathes.

"You're Brendan's dad, he's mentioned you," Ste says loudly, turns back to Seamus and takes his hand firmly, pulls on his attention.

Seamus looks back at him and smiles, smooth and charming. "Good things I hope?"

He feels his top lip curl. "If you're lookin' for Cheryl she's round the front."

"Ah, I was. Thank you - "

"Ste."

"Steven," Seamus says and pats his shoulder and Ste shudders and pulls out of his grasp, hears Brendan exhale roughly behind him. "Not gonna come give your old man a hug, Brendan?"

Ste turns again and sees Amy, half in front of Brendan now, frown fixed on her face. Between them it's like they've made a barrier to shield Brendan from his father's presence. Amy doesn't know much about Brendan's past but she knows enough and she isn't stupid, she can blatantly see the state he's in.

"Da' - " Brendan breathes, swallows thickly and can't seem to muster up anymore words.

"Come on, let's go find the others," Amy speaks up. "There'll be wonderin' where we've got to. Come 'ere baby." She tries to take Lucas from Ste's arms and he hesitates, unconscious action of clinging to his son. Amy frowns and he tries to give her a look, slants his eyes to Seamus and she shakes her head and he repeats in his head she's not stupid. He mouths thank you and she puts a hand on Seamus to steer him away and round the front.

He waits until they disappear.

"Bren - " Ste rushes forward, sees Brendan break before he gets to him and can't seem to move fast enough, like trying to run in a dream. Brendan brings the back of his knuckles up against his mouth, whirls around like he's looking for something, a way out maybe, and Ste grips his shoulders as he chokes on a sob. "Brendan, look at me." Brendan's body shakes under his hands but he looks and Ste can tell he isn't back yet, he's still in that place, caught in those memories. Seamus triggered the trap and now Brendan's tangled, helplessly, in his net. He cups Brendan's neck, strokes his thumbs across his trembling mouth. "It's okay, he's not 'ere now, it's just you and me, Brendan, just us."

Brendan's gaze fixes and clears like a focusing camera lens and he grips his hands around Ste's wrists. "I'm okay, I'm okay - I just didn't expect - I didn't know - "

"Well, how could you 'ave?"

"Yeah, yeah - "

"What d'you wanna do, Brendan?"

"What?" Brendan asks him, voice high and soft, looks at him desperately.

"Whatever you wanna do right now, we'll do it. You wanna go into that church or just get in the car and drive far away from here, whatever it is, Bren, I am with you."

Brendan's eyes fall shut and his head tips forward and Ste leans into the bow of his body, feels Brendan's arms come up around his middle and his fingers dig into the small of his back. He nuzzles his nose against Brendan's and feels the breath on his face when he whispers, "I wanna say goodbye to Lynsey."

"Then that's what we'll do."

"He can't know about - " Brendan chokes on the words but Ste gets it, feels so cold at the thought of hiding what they've worked so fucking hard for, something they should be proud of, but it's the injustice of it that makes him angry, the fact that it's just another thing Seamus will twist and shame over, not Brendan's decision.

"What d'you want me to do, stay away?"

Brendan speaks before he's oven got the words fully out, digs his fingers in harder, clings to him, "no, no don't leave me," and Ste shushes him, strokes his fingers across Brendan's throat and the hair at the nap of his neck.

"I won't, I promise," he says urgently, pulls back to catch Brendan's eyes and make him see. "Don't worry about it, leave it with me. I just want you to focus on Lysney today, okay? I'll take care of everything else, I mean it." Brendan nods against him and Ste asks, "do you trust me?"

"More than anyone," he breathes in reply and Ste pulls him close, runs his hands up and down Brendan's back.

He gives Brendan a few minutes to pull himself together before he murmurs, "come on, we should go round. Don't want him comin' back and seeing," and Brendan's got his mask in place, as fragile as it looks.

They walk the path and it leads them back to the crowd of milling bodies. Ste sees Seamus immediately, stood with his and Brendan's family like he's suddenly a part of it and he already feels like they're outsiders. When they get close Seamus is quick to spot them.

"There's my boy," he says brightly and Brendan leans into Ste ever-so-slightly, shoulders pressing together. "It's a sad day for a reunion, that's for sure, but having my family back together - well, it's been too long."

"Isn't it wonderful, Bren?" Cheryl speaks in a breathy voice, high and girlish and grating. She looks delighted, bright eyes and watery smile. "Daddy being here for us when we need him the most?"

"Yeah, s'great - "

"Well, I heard about Lysney and how could I stay away? She was a good girl."

Seamus dips his head, expression instantly changing into perfectly placed mourning and Ste's watching him closely enough to see how easy it is for him to just switch out one emotion for another, whatever's applicable to the situation at hand, whatever he thinks people expect to see. Ste knows that talent, recognises it for the clever lie it is; he used to look into the face of it every day when his mother needed money or wine or a human shield.

The whole feeling of the little group they've created changes with him like Seamus is already puppet master to their emotions.

Except Brendan. Brendan's hardly with them at all.

The hearse pulls up and it gets everyone's attention, reason they're all here and nobody can look away from the shiny, wooden box. Lysney's family shoulder its burden and it's too heavy for her father, he starts to crumble under the weight, and Cheryl darts forward and takes it from him, Brendan patting Eoghan on the shoulder to go after him as he picks up the corner next to her.

Ste feels himself swell and go warm with pride.

They follow in the procession and Ste's so focused on getting Leah in line he's not really paying attention to much else. It's only when Padraig's high voice rings out, "okay, Grandad," hesitant and a little shy, that Ste whirls around, sees Seamus holding out a hand with him to walk.

"Paddy," he calls out sharply, panic shooting up through his spine. "Come 'ere a sec, would you? I need your help with summat."

"He's walkin' with his Grandad, ain't you Padraig?" Seamus says in a drawl, eyes on Ste and cold focus making his skin prickle.

Padraig doesn't know his Grandad all that well and that much is clear. He doesn't know Ste that well either but they've spent the past day in each other's company and he laughs easily when Ste tries to make him, talks easily when Ste asks him questions.

"It's just that our Leah's decided she's too cool to walk with her dad, wants to walk with you, Paddy," he lies smoothly, casual as you like, and Seamus narrows his eyes further.

Padraig grins and looks delighted, loves Leah already, instantly took her under his nine year old protection yesterday, dancing and skidding her all round the dancefloor last night. He rushes forward and takes her hand and joins the line, leaves Ste alone at the back with Brendan's father.

"Well isn't that sweet," Seamus says with a smile that unnerves him because that's the intention. "She's got him wrapped around her little finger, already." He can't talk about his kids, Brendan's kids, any kids, with this man; not if he wants to keep his cool, not if he wants to keep his mouth shut and his fists to himself. So he says nothing, just walks. It doesn't deter Seamus, though. "Lovely family you've got, by the way."

"Thanks."

"Cheryl tells me you're staying in Dublin with them?"

"That's right."

"You and your sweet Amy must be good friends of my boy, then?"

Ste thinks, he's not your boy, not anymore, but he grits his teeth, grinds out, "we are."

"Chatty wee thing you, aren't you?"

Ste turns his head, sees the goading on Seamus face, hears it in his voice.

"Very chatty," Ste tells him softly. "Just depends who I'm chattin' to." He stops walking right outside the huge double doors of the church and Seamus stops, too. He gives Ste a small sneer, just a tiny curl to his top lip, bright and assessing eyes locked on his own like they're in a battle of wills. Ste holds out one hand, gestures to the doorway, and gives Seamus a smile of his own. "After you."

He clearly doesn't want to go through, quick and hot flash of anger across his features, Ste's caught him off guard and his mask has slipped, but can't not and they both know it.

"Very polite of you, son."

"That's me."

Ste tenses as Seamus throws a shoulder into him on his way past, spins and watches him walk over the threshold of the church and half expects him to burst into flames or something.

He doesn't.

Unfortunately.

Inside he's assaulted by the smell of incense and dust and wood, huge echoing space filled with hushed, murmuring voices. His kids are sat in a pew already, all four of them bookended between Amy and Eileen and he breathes a sigh of relief as Seamus presses in next to Brendan's ex wife, leaving Ste to sit at the end of the row, reason why he'd directed Seamus go inside first.

The bearers put the coffin on the stand and Ste watches Brendan palm the top of it, disappear into the words on the plaque at the front while the others sit across the front pew. Ste wants nothing more than to go to him, to bring him back, but he settles for a loud cough instead, gets Brendan shaking his head and looking over, clearly embarrassed at such a public display of weakness, especially in front of his father.

He comes down the aisle and slides in next to Ste and he feels instantly calmer, didn't realise how tightly wound up he was until he feels Brendan's weight against his side, didn't realise he was holding his breath until he could breathe the smell of him and his aftershave again.

All he can do is make a barrier here between Brendan and his father, press his leg against Brendan's to remind him he isn't going anywhere, and when Cheryl stutters and falls during her speech and Brendan stands and talks about shelter and surviving, he can't do a damn thing to stop Seamus eyes cutting a scouring path right across Ste's body and into his son like he intends to wound.

By the time they get back to the hotel it's starting to rain.

The sky's painted grey with thick and swollen, rolling clouds, and there's the first spatters of water against the car windscreen as Brendan pulls them up close to the lobby door.

Ste's got Lucas on his lap to make room for their extra passenger, has watched Seamus in the front seat the whole ride back, leaning across the gear stick and spewing poison into Brendan's ear. He's watched Brendan's hands turn white-knuckled on the steering wheel, watched the colour drain out of his face in the rearview mirror, and he'd fucking tried to stop this, tried to pawn Seamus off into the back but he hadn't been able to, not without making some huge, weird scene.

The whole drive is torture and he's never felt more useless, more impotent in his entire life.

Brendan tells them to head inside, he's going to park up, he'll be a minute, and they get out under the awning in front of the hotel front door, Amy herding Leah and Lucas inside before they get a chance to see all the puddles. There's other cars here, everyone coming back all at once, Lysney's friends and family making a dash through the falling rain across the car park.

Ste hears the tires squeal when Brendan pulls out and the whole thing sounds as angry as he feels.

They deal with getting sat down, getting the drinks in, getting the kids sandwiches from the buffet table, nothing for Ste thanks, he doesn't think his stomach could handle anything solid right now, settles on vodka instead, thinks he's probably going to need it.

He gets tenser and tenser as time passes.

They're all there, Seamus included, sat around one of the big round tables, and he can't see Brendan anywhere.

"He's probably having trouble parking, love, it's pissing it down out there," Cheryl tells him when he ducks over her, asks softly in her ear so nobody else hears.

He calls and it rings to answer phone twice. He texts Where are you? Worried here x but ten minutes pass and he doesn't get a reply so he texts again I'm serious, stop being a dick and phone me x and still - nothing. Seamus downs pints like he's engaging a competition, calls Cheryl his little princess, Ste's skin crawling the whole time, and kisses her head, hands locked together on the table. There's conversation and it flows around him like he's in a silent bubble, everyone's voices muffled and meaningless, not even really words just mangled vowels and consonants rubbing together, grating against his over-sensitive nerve endings.

"Ste, aren't you gonna eat something?" Amy's voice is close to him, snaps him out of his haze.

"Brendan's not back yet," he tells her softly, head close to hers.

"Well - it's been a long day. Maybe he's just getting air, clearing his head?"

"Yeah, but - " he halts, doesn't know how to finish that sentence.

"Ste, don't worry. He is a grown up," she says with a small smile, nudges him with her elbow. "He might just need some time on his own."

Ste sighs and nods and tries not to dwell, tries to be pragmatic, something he rarely is when it comes to Brendan. Brendan's reckless and impulsive, especially when he's upset, and Ste doesn't like the thought of him on his own right now but Amy's right, he isn't a child.

He puts a time frame on it, mentally gives Brendan another fourty five minutes before he'll let himself wind up properly, tries to look interested when Cheryl and Eileen regale him with tales from the past, drunken nights out they had together with Lynsey in Belfast, Cheryl flashing her tits to a police officer once, legging it across the front of the Lagan Lookout Centre and climbing the big fish statue to get away from him.

"She fell right off, right on top of the copper and fractured her ankle," Eileen tells them, bright and laughing. "She was handcuffed to the hospital bed for two hours before Brendan came and sorted it all out."

Ste can feel Seamus eyes on him the whole time, isn't surprised when he slurs, "where is that son of mine, anyway?"

"Probably just needs some time on his own, dun't he? After today."

"Probably? You mean you don't know where he is?" Cheryl asks loudly and Ste shakes his head, hopes to Christ she's not about to make a scene. "Have you phoned him?"

"Yeah - "

"And!?"

"He's not pickin' up, Chez, I'm sure he's - "

"Oh, well isn't that just typical? Today's supposed to about Lysney and my brother goes and pulls one of his attention seeking disappearing acts again." She's already had a couple of glasses of wine and she's getting herself worked up, steadily rising pressure until Ste's hope of no scenes flies straight out the patio doors.

"Just like Brendan, this. Always finding some way to ruin everyone else's mood," Seamus adds nastily, eyes still locked on Ste like he's waiting for a reaction, purposefully pushing his buttons, and it works; Ste slams a hand against the table top and stands up so hard his chair falls back.

"Ey'are, it's been a rough day for him, alright?" he finds himself half-yelling and now it's him making the scene, doesn't even remember deciding to stand up in the first place, that part of him that acts without thinking taking over, especially sensitive when it comes to Brendan, always has been.

"Oh well poor Brendan. As usual, doesn't realise it's been a hard day for all of us," Cheryl scoffs. "Don't see me vanishing off and making people worry about me, do you?"

"Well I didn't see you worrying much about him until Seamus brought it up, anyway, Chez," he fires back, hot all over, sweat pricking across the back of his neck.

"Ste." Amy's stood with him, hand gripping his arm, Cheryl glaring daggers and gearing up for another assault.

Seamus stands as well, absolute glee painted across his features but voice pitched low, all fucking fake when he spits out, "you mind your tone when you're talking to my baby girl, boy. I don't see how our family much concerns you, anyway."

The whole table falls silent, every eye on Ste, watching, waiting to see what he's going to do, what he's going to say. Even Cheryl's anger vanishes, turns quickly to wide-eyed apprehension. They know about him and Brendan and it's obvious they know Seamus doesn't and nobody has a fucking clue how to handle this situation.

Ste takes a deep breath through his nose, balls his hands into fists and grinds out, "I'm a concerned friend, that's all."

He's about to move, about to turn away and go somewhere, anywhere but here, feels like he's fucking suffocating, dizzy and itchy and hot like he's been out dehydrating in the sun too long, but Seamus already knows he's about to leave and he says, quick and whip-crack sharp, "think you should go away and clear your head, boy, calm yourself down before you come around my family again," and Ste freezes, can't take his eyes off that cruel and delighted smirk, Seamus getting him back for earlier, cleverly undermining him in front of every single person around the table.

Ste can feel his mouth tremble with the effort of not screaming, can feel his hands shake and his legs tense, wants nothing more than to get his fingers curled under the table edge and flip the fucking thing over, really leave them with something to talk about, but he doesn't. He feels Amy squeeze his shoulder and it brings him back enough to silently walk away in the knowledge he looks like a scolded schoolboy being asked to leave the dinner table.

He strides through the lobby, takes the stairs down to reception in one jump, thrilling crash of the solid floor up through his legs, something real and hard and painful. It's lashing down outside, darkening sky and cool, whipping wind, and he stands under the awning, pulls his phone out and leaves Brendan a message.

"I don't care how much you might need to be on your own right now, Brendan; I need you to come back, I need you to phone me, just fuckin' - please, Brendan, I'm goin' mad 'ere, all I can see is you in a fuckin' ditch somewhere, please - " he chokes on his begging words, feels his chest heave, and he hangs up the phone, half wants to throw it against the concrete under his feet and watch the metal smash into a million pieces.

The ground lurches and he staggers over to one of the supporting, stone pillars, leans heavy against it and tries to catch his breath. All that anxiety he thought he'd laid to rest with Brendan's kisses in the twinkling light of the garden surges up like a rising wave, crashes through his carefully constructed walls in a fraction of the time it's taken him to build them back up. His foundation feels shaky, the earth beneath it trembling like the beginning of something devastating.

He's hyper-aware and the second his phone goes off, vibrates in his hand, he answers.

"Brendan?" but there's no reply, just silence. He looks at the screen, unknown number, and brings it back. "Brendan, can you hear me? Brendan - " and then nothing, the call goes dead. He fumbles with it in his shaking hand, finds Brendan's number and presses call but it rings and rings and rings until it hits voice mail again and he wants to scream, frustration and now actual, outright fear.

There's nothing to do except wait and he isn't, has never been, a patient man. The fingers of his right hand go slippery with something thick and hot and wet and he knows he should stop picking at his scars, his wrists have barely started healing, but he can't help it, finds the low ache of it and the image of Brendan getting angry with him satisfying, finds it calming and mind-numbing enough to make time pass faster.

He considers going back inside, making nice with Cheryl, guilty for yelling at her today of all days, but his phone goes off again before he can even stand up straight, incoming call Brendan and he nearly drops it in relief.

"Where are you?"

"Steven - "

"Where are you, Brendan?"

"Up the road, by the - by the park at the top."

He's seen it on their drives past, fenced off children's play area and sprawling woods and fields out behind it, and he starts walking immediately, right out into the cool and relentless spray of rain, tells Brendan, "I'm coming," and breaks into a jog.

The road curves up into a slight hill and he rushes up it, can see the looming structure of the six-foot chain link fence and finally, like a fucking mirage appearing on the horizon, Brendan.

He's soaked to his skin, pale as a ghost, eyes red-rimmed and Ste pockets his phone and runs to him, skids to a halt almost on top of him, takes Brendan's face in his hands and flicks his eyes over every inch for blood, bruises, something, sees the knuckles of his right hand are grazed and cut.

"Stupid! How could you just wander off - " He hits Brendan's chest, hard, hard enough to make him cough out a breath, " - where've you been - what 'ave you done to yourself - I was worried sick - " He's rambling, laying all his fear over Brendan's shoulders and it's not fair but he can't stop, needs Brendan to fucking see that this isn't just his problem anymore, it belongs to both of them now. He's touching Brendan all over, his shoulders and neck and sides, his scraped knuckles, still talking, " - you don't have to do this on your own, not anymore, I wanna help, I want you to let me - " and he's said those words before, on his knees in Brendan's kitchen with his entire world crashing down around him and here they are, all over again.

Brendan can't even look him in the eye, gazes everywhere but, breathes heavy and brings his hands up and tries to pry Ste off him, tries to squirm out of his furious grip but Ste won't let him get away, can't, not now.

"Steven, get off me - " he demands over and over, rough and low but he can't.

"No - " He can't let Brendan sink in on himself, can't let him close down and shut Ste out all over again. "Look at me, Brendan - "

"Get off!" Brendan screams, pushes him away violently and Ste staggers back at least four feet, completely off balance, and Brendan comes at him, furious and focused with his fist clenched tight and raised and Ste's frozen in shock, can't process what he's seeing.

Everything condenses into an infinite point of time, lashing rain halting in the air in front of his face, waving ripples in the puddles under his feet going still like pretty sculptures, and what he should feel is fear but it's not that, he isn't afraid of Brendan; instead his shock turns to anger, cold and solid like an ice block.

"Don't you dare," he grinds out furiously and time snaps back to normal with the crash of falling water and Brendan's expression turning instantly to horror.

He looks at Ste with wide eyes, fist still raised, before he crumples into devastation, whirls around and embeds his already cut up knuckles into the concrete fence support at his side, once, twice, before Ste's moving without a thought, gripping Brendan again, getting between him and the damage he's doing to himself, fucking hurling himself into the path of Brendan's red-hot rage even though two seconds ago it had been aimed at him.

He's insane, fucking tapped in the head, but even now, even after everything, he doesn't care.

"Stop it!" he shouts for the fifth or sixth time, wrestles Brendan away from the support, shoves him back and throws himself across Brendan's body, tries to pin his struggling arms, get some kind of grip on him solid enough to make him just see. "Brendan - I said look at me," and finally he does, finally he goes still, still straining against Ste's hands on his neck but he's not fighting anymore, not looking away, just looking at Ste like a terrified little boy.

"You have to get away from me, Steven," Brendan whispers, high and soft.

"Never, I am never leaving you, okay?"

"And what happens next time I hit you?"

"You won't."

"I nearly - "

"But you didn't. You're better than that, now."

"I'm just like him."

Ste's grim and furious, wishes he couldn't believe what he was hearing but unfortunately he knows how that feeling runs. "You are nothing like him. If you were anything like him how could I love you? You need to trust me, Brendan, because I know you and you're not your dad, you never could be."

Brendan sobs, chokes a strangled, gasping, devastating sound, and half collapses, curls in on himself and against Ste's body. His arms come up and cling at Ste's back and Ste cups his neck, kisses him desperately, presses his lips against Brendan's cheeks and lips and jaw and pulls him close, tangles fingers in his sopping wet hair and just holds on for dear life to the most fragile thing he's ever touched.

Brendan shivers in his arms, cries the most broken noises into his throat, cries like Ste's never heard him cry before and he almost drowns under the outpouring of so many years worth of emotion and agony. Ste rocks them, mutters words against Brendan's hairline, I love you, I'm not goin' anywhere, we'll get through this, I promise you, I promise, and the force of Brendan's devastation tries so hard to take them down, tries so hard to rattle apart the foundation of what they've tried so hard to build, to send it breaking and crumbling to the ground, razed and demolished.

Ste makes himself steady and holds them together and hopes his waning strength will be enough to survive the blows.

After however long they've spent in the rain, the warmth of the lobby is almost painful.

Ste dries his hand on one of the reception chairs and fumbles his phone in his frozen fingers, texts Amy to tell the others they're okay, he's found Brendan, they're having an early night, oh, and by the way don't mention to Seamus that they're a couple. He trusts her to deal with whatever shit they've caused even if he does feel guilty as hell about dumping all this on her shoulders.

Brendan's silent and energy sapped, soft and pliable when Ste pulls him to the lift, and it's so jarring after what happened outside, so jarring to see Brendan reduced like this, submissive and silent and his whole presence muffled like someone's shoved him into a box and sealed down the lid.

It scares Ste to death.

He presses for their floor and rubs Brendan's cold hands between his own as they ascend, the only reaction he gets Brendan's eyes fixed on him unwaveringly like he's afraid to look away, afraid Ste might vanish if he does.

He doesn't ask if Brendan's okay, they've never needed empty platitudes, instead he wrangles Brendan into their room and locks them in safe and tight where the world outside can't touch them. Ste presses close, slides off Brendan's sopping wet jacket, unbuttons his shirt and trousers and strips the wet clothes away from his cold skin and Brendan lets him do all of it like he hasn't the energy to fight anymore. He goes to fetch towels from the bathroom and clean, comfortable clothes from the cupboard and strips out of his own stuff on his way, relief at getting the sticking, heavy weight of the material off his body, and tosses the lot into the corner of the bathroom where he'll deal with them later.

Brendan's hair spikes up into fluffy tufts when Ste rubs the towel over him and he cracks the smallest smile, a tiny, fragile and broken thing, so precarious but so beautiful for it, and Ste kisses him softly, just reassurance. When he's satisfied they're both dry enough he tosses the towels near the radiator, gets a wry little eye-roll from Brendan for his messiness, narrowest crack for the light to shine through, to let Ste know he's still there and still with him.

He's half into his t-shirt when his phone beeps at him from the dressing table and he goes to it while Brendan dresses and collapses to the bed like his strings have been cut. He has a message and two missed calls, Amy and Unknown Number again.

"It's Amy, she's told everyone we're okay."

Brendan nods, asks hoarsely, "my Da?"

"Drunk, apparently."

"Sounds right."

"He doesn't know."

At least - Ste doesn't know how he could know if he does.

"I don't even care."

He knows that isn't true but Brendan's exhausted, dull behind the eyes and sagging against his hands in the mattress.

"Lie down, I'll get the light," he says softly and heads to flick the switch.

The room isn't completely dark, there's lights from the garden downstairs shimmering through the balcony doors, sparking off the rain droplets drizzling down the glass and spreading silver and white across the bed where Brendan's laid watching him, shining off the blue of his eyes as Ste crawls in and curls up against his side.

Brendan turns his head across the pillow towards him and Ste spreads a palm flat on his t-shirt covered stomach, peace and stillness descending over them, everything faint, grey-washed and calm like a world apart from the rest of the Universe.

"Wanna talk?"

His question's met with silence but he can see Brendan considering him through the faint light. Eventually he speaks, soft and high and breathy, "I loved him so much." Ste's breath catches in his throat and he digs his fingers against Brendan's body, presses into him. "Even - even after he started - started doing it - I loved him. Just wanted to make him happy. Nothing I ever did was good enough but that - that I couldn't get wrong - I was good for him, then. Always have been. Always been good at that, if nothing else."

Good at that, good at sex.

Ste feels sick, nausea rolling through his stomach and chest, can feel Seamus' taint covering everything it touches. It doesn't always hit home, the things that happened to Brendan, not until he really thinks about it, but Brendan carries this with him day in, day out and Ste's only just getting a taste of what that feels like.

"That and hurtin' people."

"That's not all you are, Brendan. If that was true I wouldn't be 'ere right now."

Brendan shakes his head back and forth across the pillow. "He took everything, Steven."

"He didn't take away the things that I love," he tells Brendan softly.

"I'm not normal."

"What he did to you doesn't say one thing about you, just about him, just about how sick he is."

Brendan considers that, too. "Doesn't matter, though. It's what he's left of me. I can't get away from it, it's always there, always stuck in my head on repeat."

"Tell me," Ste says gently, rubs his fingers across Brendan's stomach."Please."

"I was eight," Brendan tells him after a thoughtful silence, voice barely a whisper, and his gaze shifts past Ste and out into the sky through the balcony doors. "Hadn't even met my baby sister, yet. It was spring, during the holidays. I remember because - 'cause he took me out for the day and we got ice-cream. Said it was a treat and - and he was so nice to me that day; thought all my dreams were comin' true, y'know? My ma put me to bed but I couldn't sleep, still too happy, still too excited, me and my dad spending time together, the way he'd looked at me - like, for once, he was pleased that I was his boy. I got out a book - it was - it - "

Brendan stutters around his words and Ste slips a leg over him, curls it in between Brendan's own, presses closer against the side of him and kisses the top of his arm.

"It was Roald Dahl - loved Roald Dahl," he says and smiles, faraway and shaky. "Danny, the Champion of the World. I didn't even get far - my da came up. Thought he was gonna tell me to switch off my light and go to sleep but - but that's not what he wanted." Brendan's face scrunches up and he brings a hand up across his mouth, bites on the pad of his thumb and fixes his eyes on Ste so suddenly he startles and when he speaks next it's in a blurred, rush of breath, "I mean he did - he - he wanted me to switch out my light, always wanted it to be dark, he didn't like to look at me, not at my face, anyway, he just liked me to be really still and - and really quiet, always had to be quiet even though it hurt, it was so hard to stay quiet but we couldn't let ma find out about our little secret, sssshhh - she wouldn't like it - she wouldn't have under - understood - "

"Brendan," Ste whispers in the dark, cups the side of Brendan's face gently, feels the weight of sheer horror inside him, cold, toxic poison of it through his veins.

"Danny was such a brave kid but - but I couldn't be, not like him. Couldn't read Roald Dahl again, not even to my boys." He breathes a shaky, choking laugh. "Took that from me, too."

"You're still 'ere, aren't you? After everything? You're the bravest man I know, Brendan."

"No, I'm not," Brendan murmurs with a small smile. "You're just brave enough for the both of us."

Ste's heart aches, every muscle and nerve in his body straining out to Brendan like even this, even touching him, being pressed against him like this, isn't enough. He wants to open Brendan up and crawl inside and seal himself inside his skin and even then - it still wouldn't be close enough. If the strength of this feeling isn't enough to carry them through this then there's no hope for them because what Ste feels right now, in this bed, in the hazy, silver twilight, in this warm and open and still moment, is so earth-shatteringly powerful, so real and alive, that he can't hold it all to himself.

Brendan's this slight and half-broken, half-fixed thing against him, this tortured and half-destroyed man Ste wants to push the weight of everything he is into, wants to write down, in black and white, all the ways Brendan is good and bright and worth the world to Ste so he can't ignore it. He doesn't have the words to do it, though. No words will ever be enough.

"I wish you could see what I see," he says but what he means is one day I'll make you see.

He cups Brendan's neck and drags him close, slides a hand underneath the pillows and pulls him flush against his body. Brendan's arms come up around his waist and he tucks his head under Ste's chin and Ste strokes his hair, kisses the top of his head and even though Brendan's huge he just fits in Ste's arms like this, like it's the easiest thing in the world.

They stay like that in the quiet dark and Brendan eventually goes loose against him, breath evening out, slow and deep. Ste feels it before it happens, feels the shivers start in the base of his spine before curling and winding up his back, down his arms and legs and right into his fingertips. His eyes sting and his mouth trembles and he strains every muscle to stop his entire body from shaking so hard it wakes up the man in his arms.

The room is still and grey-washed and safe but Ste breaks its perfect silence, presses his lips against Brendan's hair and cries.