above all (m×m) ✔

21) clarification

"I'm a big guy, I can handle one drunken horn dog." Brandon promised, not at all worried. He was in better shape than Steven was, so maybe he was right to be confident about his odds. 

"Horn dog, huh?" Steven let out a deep laugh. "I'll see you later, then."

"And Steven." The way Brandon said his name, turned Steven's skin on goosebumps. "Have fun."

When Steven went back inside, he was in a better mood. He felt like his and Brandon's social circle was shrinking, as Brandon wanted to go out less and less, and that they were stuck with the progress they had previously made so steadily. But he also realized that it had more to do with Brandon than him, now that his thinking brain was overtaking his feeling heart.

Steven needed to find a way to help Brandon out of his bubble, but it could wait for another day. Right then, he just wanted to celebrate and take everything out of his evening, with or without Brandon. He wanted to drag Eli to the dance floor and laugh at stupid jokes like they had done so many times before. Then he would curl up in Brandon's bed and fall asleep next to him, and that sounded to Steven just about splendid. 

"Have you still got the moves?" Steven inquired, giving Eli a short version of his own. Eli facepalmed himself and laughed while shaking his head, muttering something about being way too sober for such tomfoolery. Steven gasped, reaching out a hand for Eli and playfully bemoaned: "What has Benjamin turned you into? You are all work and no pleasure. Who is going to dance with me now, I'm just asking, who will that be?"

"I have plenty of pleasure thanks to him." Eli pointed out, wiggling his eyebrows. "But, okay, sure, let's go." He gave in and let Steven pull him up to his feet. When Steven whooped, so loudly the entire apartment building could hear him, Eli noted: "You're such a drama queen."

They took a taxi to a nightclub, one not nearly as nice as FAB had been. The new nightclub was called Paraíso, and Steven guessed with his limited linguistic abilities, that the name had something to do with a paradise. Although, with the deafeningly loud disco music and the fluttery yellow-pink lights, Steven wouldn't exactly have called it that.

Eli switched to soda, but Steven had no intention of slowing down. He ordered a pint, taking it and Eli with him to the dance floor, not caring about the glares it resulted from the other dancers. They got lost in the music, following its thumping beat and letting it vibrate in their chests. Steven laughed so much his stomach ached and squeezed Eli into a tight hug. 

There was a camera flash, or a spotlight that reminded one misleadingly much, but Steven paid it no heed. People took pictures in nightclubs all the time, and there was nothing alarming about it. Besides, Steven and Eli were both some sort of small celebrities. Either way, they soon left for another nightclub. 

"We should call it a night." Eli suggested when he watched Steven stumble on his own feet. They were on their way looking for the third, or it could have been the fourth, nightclub of the night, and smoking. 

"I'm not even drunk yet." Steven insisted. For so many times he had been the one dragging Eli's drunken ass around the city, when he had taken drinking too far, but apparently the tables had turned.

"Yeah.. about that.." Eli murmured, giving Steven a wide, dimpled grin. 

"Just one more bar, and then we can go." Steven bargained, as a thought popped into his mind. No more dancing, no more screaming over the pounding music. Didn't they say that bartenders make good therapists? Couldn't one even give you the answers you needed, if you just knew the place to be?

"We're going to Riff?" Eli asked, eyes widening with surprise, as they reached the entrance of a small bar at the quieter corner of the city center. Steven nodded and strode right in, smirking when he spotted a familiar bundle of red hair by the counter.

Shirley was wearing bright red lipstick, a blue bandana, a black t-shirt with the bar name printed on it and black high waist shorts. Behind her, on the brick wall was a wide collection of bottles and plaques with the names of famous rock bands such as The Who and AC/DC. It was a quiet evening at Riff, so the sound of the door opening immediately caught Shirley and the other bartender's attention.

"What are you doing here?" Shirley exclaimed, greeting them with a beaming smile. The make-up made her look different, accentuating her brown doe eyes. Steven wondered whether Dam-Bi did the make-up Shirley needed for work, when Shirley herself couldn't tell the difference between an eye-liner and a concealer. 

"You couldn't come to my party, so we brought the party to you." Steven explained, claiming a stool by the bar counter. Eli sat down next to him and rested his elbows on the counter, trailing a ringed forefinger along a scratch in the polished wood. "Give Eli a coke and, hm, a Gin & Tonic for me."

"Coming right away." Shirley made a show with mixing the drinks and even went as far as plopping tiny umbrellas in their glasses. Only when she pushed the drinks to Eli and Steven, she asked: "Where's Brandon?"

"He couldn't make it." Steven shrugged. "But I'm going over at his place afterwards."

"Okay, good." Shirley said, jaw set but smiling. She opened her mouth to add something, but instead picked up a rag and started wiping the counter. 

A group of guys in their mid-thirties swayed into the bar and Shirley had to help the other bartender to take their orders. When she returned to Steven and Eli, they had already moved to other topics. Steven continued drinking, listening to Eli's story of his niece and nephew. He complained about the hardships of babysitting them, but all the while he was smiling. 

"Sooo, have you noticed anything different about Brandon?" Steven ventured at some point, his voice sounding slurred even to his own ear. Shirley gave him a tense nod, but remained silent. "It isn't because of me, do you think?"

"No, Brandon is smitten by you." Shirley admitted, a smile flashing on her lips, so briefly Steven wondered if he had imagined the whole thing.

"It's the picture, then?" Steven drawled, emptying his drink and studying the bottom of his glass.

"What picture?" Shirley asked, leaning closer over the bar counter.

"The one you left in his place." Steven answered. Looking at Shirley's blank expression, the realization sank into the bottom of his stomach: she hadn't given him the picture after all. Steven explained: "The one of your dad?"

"The one of.." Shirley's face twisted, but she didn't finish the sentence. Instead, her head snapped to the side so fast it made her hair bounce off her shoulder, and told the other bartender: "Daniel, I'm taking a break."

The guy probably saw from her face that it wasn't wise to argue with her, as he just dismissed her with a wave of his hand. Shirley circled around the bar counter and pulled Steven on his feet at a dizzying speed. Then she started dragging him towards the door, while a puzzled looking Eli followed after them, keeping distance. 

"So, let me get this straight.." Shirley slumped to sit on a column by the smoking area, absent-mindedly flicking her fingers as if lighting a cigarette. "Brandon found a picture of our dad from his apartment.. and he thought it was from me?"

"Well, yeah, he said he couldn't think of anyone else giving it to him." Steven muttered, then leaned his back against the wall. "I really thought he had asked you about it already."

"And.. why the fuck would I give that abusive holier than thou prick's picture to Brandon?" Shirley's voice rose the further she got, her eyes flaring with deep-rooted hatred. She shook her head in utter disbelief. "Did Brandon seriously think I would do something like that to him?"

"He said it didn't make much sense." Steven found himself defending Brandon, feeling a strong urge to be there for him. The conversation was sobering him up, clearing his head and making it easier to think rationally. "He hasn't been well.."

"I know, and he's been too fucking stubborn to ask for my help.. What should I do to make him give a shit about himself too?" Shirley mumbled and rubbed her eyes, managing to smudge some of her mascara in the process. Her chest was rising and falling fast, her face turning bleak. For a moment Steven was certain she would burst into tears, but instead she took a shaky breath and collected herself. "I'm coming with you tonight. We need to talk this through."