Steven was a force of nature, dancing around the kitchen while whistling an upbeat tune Brandon didn't recognise. His black hair, still damp from the shower, was slicked back, and he was wearing a bright red floral shirt with a pair of loose shorts. No socks, no shoes, just a whole lot of shuffling around.
"Let's go grocery shopping after breakfast." Steven told Brandon, turning to face him as he sat at the table with a glass of water and a packet of cookies in front of him.
"Uh-huh." Brandon agreed half-heartedly, dreading the idea of having to go out in the open. As he nibbled his oat raisin cookie, he had a feeling Steven wasn't a breakfast person, judging from the lack of any real food at the table. Brandon wasn't hungry, so he didn't understand why Steven insisted on having breakfast.
"We can buy you the tea you like and whatever it is you normally eat.." Steven got full into a planning mode, then stopped as if having realized something and sat back at the table. "And you could teach me how to cook some of your favorite meals, so we need to buy ingredients for those too."
"I don't.." Brandon's voice trailed off as he saw the hopeful glint in Steven's eyes, not wanting to say anything to take that away. Brandon wasn't all that hungry, and he certainly didn't feel like cooking, but for whatever reason, Steven was hellbent on feeding him that day. "Okay, sure. I'll just take a shower first, if that's okay?"
"Of course. Anything and everything in here is free for you to use. Mi casa es su casa or however the saying goes.. But what comes to the shower heads, it's a bit tricky. What kind of shower head do you normally use?" Steven asked and hopped up from his chair. Was Brandon imagining it or was Steven somehow extra Steven-ish that day? "I'll show you how they work. You'll love the massaging shower head, and my personal favorite.."
Brandon scratched the back of his head, furrowing his brows as he tried to follow Steven's increasingly fast monologue. Steven handed him the biggest and fluffiest towel he had ever seen, then he was guided to the spacious, modern bathroom.
Indeed, the shower had some fancy, tricky settings to get familiarized with. Unlike Brandon's shower, Steven's didn't have an ugly green shower curtain but a glass sliding door. There were bottles after bottles of shampoos and shower gels, so many that Brandon had no idea which one he was supposed to use. The water was steaming hot and the shower head had a perfect pressure, making Brandon wish he would never have to return to his own dysfunctional shower.
Was it wrong to hope he didn't have to go back to his apartment? That he could stay here with Steven and Fitzgerald for the rest of his life? And not just until they found out Trey was still in prison, or until he had overstayed his welcome?
Brandon was biting his inner cheek as they walked through the narrow aisles of the grocery store, praying that he could keep it together even for one shopping trip. Ever since seeing that reflection on the shop window, he couldn't shake the feeling that someone was following his every step. That someone being Trey or his dad, but he refused to think that either of those could be anything more than a figment of his imagination.
He was no longer a scared little mouse, and he had gotten out.. Or had he? Was it over, was it really?
"Is this one okay? Or that?" Steven asked, holding two packets of tea in his hands for Brandon to see. Brandon smothered an urge to glance over his shoulder, mustering a smile on his lips when he took one of the packets and dropped it in the shopping cart.
Steven's enthusiasm was adorable, to an extent of being overwhelming. Brandon could tell how much Steven wanted him to feel welcomed, how much he cared. Never before had anyone made Brandon feel like everything about him was important, from his favorite bands to the teas he preferred. The thought made his chest grow heavy, and warm.
"So, what's your favorite food?" Steven questioned, circling his arm around Brandon's shoulders. Unlike every other person's touch, Steven's made the tension melt from his muscles, soothed some deep part of him.
"We can just make something you like, I'm not picky." Brandon offered.
"Nope, I'm not having any of that." Steven announced, swirling around and letting his arm drop from Brandon's shoulders. Brandon found himself missing its warmth, and he sent a longing gaze at Steven. "I want to make your favorite food, and I'm going to spoil you rotten now that I have the opportunity."
"I like anything with potatoes." Brandon ventured, biting his inner cheek. Why did telling what he liked feel so intimate, embarrassing to him?
"And pot roast?" Steven asked, a wide smile spreading on his lips. Brandon nodded, swallowing back an unheralded lump in his throat. All that care was almost too much to bear. After every disappointment Brandon had caused Steven of late, his affection felt completely undeserved.
Steven insisted on paying for everything, starting from Brandon's tea to dinner and beer to go along with it. Beer, because neither of them was big on wine. All the while he was making jokes and telling stories, each more hilarious than the other, to cheer Brandon up. Still, the best Brandon could do was a smile and a few soft laughs. He didn't feel like himself, at all, and he was exhausted to the bone.
It was exhausting to pretend everything was alright, when so little made sense anymore. What came to the possibility of Trey being out, Brandon downright refused to think about it. He couldn't, not when the rubber band around his chest, head, mind was already stretched too wide. He didn't want it to snap, he didn't want to snap. He needed to be okay for Steven and Shirley.
Before they started preparing dinner, Brandon locked himself into the bathroom. He sat on the closed toilet seat and fumbled for his medicine. When he dropped the pill on his open palm, his hand was shaking. He couldn't tell for sure if he had already taken it that morning or not.
Just like some mornings, when he couldn't tell for sure if he had already eaten or not. He couldn't remember a damn thing, and he was trying to gather his nerve to open up about it to Steven. Brandon swallowed the pill dry, got up to wash his face with cold water and inhaled deeply, mustering a smile on his lips and making his way back to the kitchen.
Steven put on music, one of the older albums from Florence + The Machine, and they prepared the dinner while sharing a bottle of beer. All Brandon had to do was make sure Steven didn't start a fire, and that they got the meal on the table without casualties.
"I really am sorry I didn't come to your party." Brandon whispered, cutting the potato on his plate into unnecessarily tiny bites. Even the thought of eating made nausea roil in his stomach, and bringing it up right then probably wasn't the best of ideas, but he had to get the words out. Otherwise he would be too charged to eat at all. The knife screeched against the plate, the sound loud in Brandon's ears. "I was going to come, but there was this.. thing at work, and then I just couldn't —"
"What thing?" Steven cut Brandon short, setting down his fork and knife.
"It was really not a big deal, Håkan and Gianna just overreacted. They said I should take a few days off, just to rest and stuff." Brandon explained, avoiding Steven's gaze by staring at the cooling meal on his plate.
"What happened?" Steven demanded, his voice filled with worry but also determined enough that Brandon knew he wasn't going to let it go.
"Uh, I kind of fainted." Brandon mumbled, his frown deepening.
"You fainted? And you didn't tell me? What the fuck, Brandon?" Steven's tone made Brandon lift his gaze, just to see guilt and hurt storming in his blue eyes. He shook his head, talking more to himself than to Brandon: "And there I was, all miffed when you missed my party, when I should have been there to make sure you're okay."
"It was just a sugar crash." Brandon didn't understand why everyone made such a big deal about it.
One moment he had been mixing the batter for a vanilla cake, then he had woken up from the kitchen floor with the help of a frantic Håkan. He had felt better after drinking a glass of juice, but of course Håkan had insisted on getting Gianna there. Gianna, then, offered Brandon to pay for those days off, just to make sure he got some rest and didn't stress about his income.
"Why didn't you just tell me?" Steven breathed, his frown shifting to an expression of sorrow.
"You were celebrating and I didn't want to ruin your big day." Brandon admitted, sinking lower into his chair.
For a long while Steven said nothing. Tension kept building in his shoulders and he was working his jaw, but Brandon couldn't quite read the look on his face. It was possible he was nervous, at a loss of words, rather than angry. But what if he had finally had enough? What if he..
Brandon couldn't finish his thought, as he watched Steven getting up and walking towards him. For a second or two, Brandon was certain Steven was going to slam his fist into his face or knock his chair over. His body reacted to the danger before his mind did, shrinking his vision and making his stomach lurch. Yet, before he could bolt, Steven kneeled on the floor in front of him and clutched his hands.
"What am I supposed to do with you?" Steven murmured, his tone everything but angry despite his words. When Brandon just stared at him, he corrected: "What am I supposed to do to make you care about yourself too?"
"I care about myself." Brandon grumbled, glaring at Steven.
"Yeah, sure, just as long as it is no inconvenience to me, Shirley or Ash." Steven sighed, knitting his eyebrows to show how displeased he was about that. "You can't neglect your own needs trying to take care of everyone else's. We're all reaching out a helping hand for you, so please just take it. For once, let us help you, will you?"
"I will, sorry." Brandon breathed, swallowing back the lump in his throat. He wanted to look away from Steven, but found himself unable to.
"No apologies." Steven decided firmly, cupping Brandon's cheek with his hand. Brandon wondered how easy it would have been to lean in and kiss him, if he had had the courage. Steven's gaze strayed down to his lips, but he pressed his eyes shut and gave his head a quick, clearing shake. "All you need to do is sit still and let me spoil you rotten."
Brandon hummed, not quite agreeing but not saying no either. Then he pulled Steven into a hug, because a kiss still felt a little too much, but hugging he could do. Steven hugged him back so tight it stole the breath out of his lungs, but he didn't mind.
"I'll reheat these and I'm expecting to see no crumbs left on your plate by the end of this meal." Steven declared, hopping back onto his feet once they parted from the embrace. "From now on, you better get used to being treated like royalty. Think of it like visiting an all inclusive resort."
"Steven Dempsey, a five star luxury resort?" Brandon joked, a chuckle easing some of the tension in his body. "The master chef might burn your potatoes and your hotel breakfast consists of stale cookies?"
"Yup, that's exactly what a luxury resort is like." Steven agreed, a beaming smile spreading on his lips as he managed to bring a joke out of Brandon. Then he laughed, deep and thoroughly, like Brandon really was fun to be around with.