"Sorry, it's messy here.." Brandon muttered, rubbing the side of his neck. He looked like he was fighting against an urge to clear up, to make the place more presentable.
There were half finished drafts and art supplies scattered all around, but Steven wouldn't necessarily have called the place messy. Besides, the warm, earthy colors were so utterly Brandon that Steven couldn't help but fall in love with the apartment.
"I like it here." Steven told him. A relieved smile tucked up the corners of Brandon's mouth, like he had actually feared that Steven would judge him. Steven sat on the couch, picking up Brandon's sketchbook and starting to leaf it. With a playful smirk, he added: "I'm not saying that you smell or anything, but you should take a shower before breakfast."
"Shut up." Brandon muttered, before turning around and rummaging through his drawer for clean clothes.
It didn't matter how many times Steven saw Brandon's art, it never ceased to take his breath away. What Brandon had was raw talent, a gift. He mostly used black ballpoint pen, which he carried to all their gatherings alongside the sketchbook, but Steven spotted a few canvases leaning against the wall as well.
The water started to run in the bathroom, stealing Steven's focus from the portrait he had been admiring. It got increasingly difficult to study the drawing, where Dam-Bi was blowing a bubble with bubble gum, when his mind kept creating tortuously vivid images of Brandon in the shower. Naked, slathering his toned body with soap and.. Steven shook his head, trying to clear his head.
He enjoyed sex, there was no way around it. In any other situation, he wouldn't have gone through more than a couple of weeks without sex. Steven was a sucker for any sort of intimacy: cuddling, kissing, hugging, even holding hands. So, of course it was going to be a challenge to court someone who wasn't ready for any of that yet. Who might end up never wanting those things, if he didn't find the needed connection with Steven.
Steven shouldn't have been thinking about sex or intimacy, not right then. Not when he could see something was bothering Brandon. He had sounded genuinely spooked when he had called Steven the previous night, and Steven had kept talking just to make sure Brandon wouldn't hang up.
It was clear that whatever nightmare Brandon had had, hadn't been about the CIA, shadow monsters or leather jackets. It hadn't been the sort of dream you could laugh at in the morning, or the sort to tell a funny story about. If, in fact, it had been about Brandon's dad, how terrible a person that man needed to be? And, more importantly, how could Steven make Brandon open up about it?
Steven studied a drawing Brandon had made of him. In it, Steven was smirking, an unlit cigarette sticking out the corner of his mouth. It held so much emotion, like Steven could actually see himself through Brandon's eyes. He could see this cheerful, assertive man who was quick to smile, someone who was fun to be around with. Steven smiled at the picture, feeling warm all over.
"I drew a picture of you." Brandon said, bringing a whiff of lemony soap with him. He still kept a healthy distance from Steven on the couch, but at least he had chosen the couch instead of the floor like he tended to do in any other company.
"I think you've drawn quite a lot of pictures of me." Steven pointed out, a poised smirk on his lips.
"Shut up." Brandon grumbled, adjusting his glasses on his nose. "I drew something I'd like you to have."
"Where is it?" Steven asked, already leafing through the pages, like couldn't possibly have the picture fast enough.
"The second last page." Brandon instructed Steven. He was biting his lower lip nervously.
"This one?" Steven asked, eyebrows drawing together. He had nothing against Ash and Miles, but what could he possibly do with their picture?
"No, not that.." Brandon snatched the sketchbook from Steven, turning the pages. When he didn't find what he was looking for, he stared at the book blankly. "I swear I.." Brandon frowned, his voice drifting off. "Nevermind."
"Are you sure you're okay?" Steven breathed, noticing the tension in Brandon's shoulders, the uncertainty in his eyes. "You can talk to me, you know that ri—"
"Didn't you say you're starving?" Brandon cut him short, standing up.
Steven watched Brandon as he made his way to the kitchen counter and picked up the paper bag, the hunger long forgotten from his mind. Luckily his appetite made a come-back as soon as he smelled the greasy aroma of hash browns and Egg McMuffins.
"My dad's new wife is only 33 years old and their girl just turned three." Steven found himself telling Brandon somewhere in between his second and third hash brown. He could hear how tentatively the words came out of his mouth, and he wondered what exactly he was hoping to gain by telling that. "My mom and his husband have a son, Bereket, who was born a year before my parents' divorce."
Brandon listened intently, not once trying to interrupt Steven or ask questions. He had forgotten all about the Egg McMuffin, which lay on his lap in its wrapper. His lips were parted, his eyes pensive, yet focused. Steven wondered yet again if he knew exactly how much effort talking about his family, without the jokes and belittling, took from Steven.
"And, as you already know", Steven started, chuckling uncomfortably. He picked at his hash brown, frowning and trying to collect his thoughts. Brandon waited patiently, until Steven finally continued: "My parents can't even look at each other without wanting to claw each other's eyes from their eye sockets. So, it's safe to say I have some experience with dysfunctional families."
A silence fell over them, as Steven waited for Brandon to say something. He didn't, but instead picked up his Egg McMuffin and took a bite of it. He seemed perfectly content with the silence. To the point where Steven was thinking that Brandon knew what he was trying to ask, and deliberately acted like he didn't.
"So, um.." Steven cleared his throat. "You don't have to talk to me, but just know that I won't get spooked easily in case you do want to talk about your dad. Or the nightmare."
"What is your dad like?" Brandon asked, taking another deliberate bite of his breakfast. Steven knew he was stalling, trying to veer Steven's thoughts elsewhere. Waiting for Steven to tell a story and forget all about his previous question. That wasn't going to happen, not this time.
"Nicholas is glum and grumpy, but he means well. He's loyal to a fault, and he would never have cheated mom like mom cheated him." Steven told Brandon anyway, shrugging. "And Hakim is funny, adventurous and loud. I swear, you better bring earplugs if you ever visit him."
"And, who was who again?" Brandon chuckled, smiling apologetically.
"Nicholas is my biological father and Hakim is my stepfather." Steven explained, waving his hand and smiling. He leaned back on the couch, letting his back sink in the soft cushion. He kept gazing at Brandon, wordlessly trying to coax him to talk.
Brandon hummed, then shifted uncomfortably, noticing Steven's expectant stare. He set down the rest of his breakfast, biting his lower lip. Just as Steven was thinking about letting it go, Brandon snapped: "What do you want me to say?"
It wasn't anger that made his voice rise, but desperation. Brandon had never raised his voice at Steven or anyone else as far as Steven knew. He hadn't meant to corner Brandon like that, and he opened his mouth to say so, but Brandon beat him to it.
"Sorry, that was uncalled for." Brandon sighed, rubbing the bridge of his nose just above the bridge of his glasses. "I'm tired and.. I don't know. I just don't know."
Then Brandon stood up, new-found determination in his expression. He opened a kitchen drawer, picking up something and walking back to Steven. He didn't say a word, but just dropped a piece of paper on Steven's lap.
Not just any piece of paper, but a picture. Its colors were so faded it looked black and white at first glance, but it wasn't. In it was a man, whose jaw was strong and nose crooked. Eyes dark, sharp and humorless, despite the phantom of a smile on his lips. He was looking away from the camera, his musclebound arms crossed in front of him, elbows on the table.
"Is this..?" Steven started, running his thumb over the face in the picture.
"My dad, Lucas." Brandon said his name like it was acid in his mouth. Then he slumped back to the couch, crossing his arms over his chest as if wanting to keep Steven in distance. He let out a laugh, one with no joy in it. "He used to beat me."
Steven's heart lurched in his chest, dropping all the way to the bottom of his stomach. To hear that someone could do something like that to such a good, caring human being. To someone who so selflessly took care of his friends and family. To Brandon, his Brandon. The shock was replaced with anger in just a blink of an eye, and Steven gritted his teeth together.
"It didn't matter what I said or did, he just.." Brandon threw his hands in the air, shaking his head. He brushed his fingertips over his forehead and temple, tracing the faded scar Steven had seen when they were swimming, as if recalling a memory. "Anyway, it doesn't matter. I told myself I could take it as long as he didn't lay a hand on Shirley, but when he did.. Or tried to.. I had to take her away from there."
"So, that's why you left, not because they were poor." Steven whispered, keeping his voice soft.
His parents had their issues and their fighting had left a mark on Steven and his siblings, but they wouldn't have laid a hand on their children. They had never intentionally hurt them or wanted to make them suffer. The fact that Brandon and Shirley's father had done just that, broke Steven's heart.
"Yeah." Brandon confirmed, fiddling with the hem of his sweatshirt. "And I gave everything I had to keep Shirley safe, so I don't understand why she would.." His voice cracked and he cleared his throat, blinking his eyes. "..give me that."
"She gave you this?" Steven took another look at the picture, frowning.
Steven wanted so badly to pull Brandon to his chest, to wrap his arms around him. Yet, seeing the tension in Brandon's body made Steven hesitate, to wonder if a touch would trigger something in him. Brandon didn't often let that side of himself be seen, he rarely let down his guard. There was something so raw and doleful in him without those ramparts.
"I can't think of anyone else who could have left it." Brandon shrugged, avoiding Steven's gaze. He kept twisting the hem of his sweatshirt, tighter and tighter. "Sorry, I know I'm overreacting, it's just a picture."
"Well, if I had a father like that, I probably wouldn't appreciate being reminded of him either." Steven huffed, anger flaring in his chest. Why would Shirley think it was a good idea to do so? She was always there, ready to protect Brandon at all cost, so it just didn't make any sense.
"Really?" Brandon breathed. His hands halted on their movement, but didn't let go of the shirt.
"Really." Steven emphasized. Then he asked, more quietly: "Can I hug you?"
Brandon didn't answer, but he spread his arms, leaning in. Steven pulled him close and embraced him tightly, murmuring 'Come here.' in his hair, which was still damp from the shower. Brandon buried his face in the crook of Steven's shoulder and returned the hug by clutching his arms around Steven's waist.
"It isn't his birthday or something like that?" Steven suggested, now drawing shapes with his fingers on Brandon's back. Brandon shook his head, the movement barely noticeable as his face was buried in Steven's neck.
"Could you maybe stay here tonight?" Brandon whispered, his breath feeling warm against Steven's skin.
Steven had a photoshoot in the morning, and he knew the smartest thing would have been to spend the evening home, shower and go to bed early. After all, he couldn't show up to the shoot with dark circles under his eyes. He would also need to ask someone to go feed Fitzgerald..
But then again, Steven could hear from Brandon's voice how difficult that question was for him to ask and how much he needed Steven to stay. He could shower at Brandon's, no one forced them to stay up late and his father had the spare key, so he could look after Fitzgerald.
"Sure." Steven agreed and pushed Brandon on arm's length, studying his face with a smile on his lips. "But I'm taking you to the mall first."
"Why?" Brandon asked, his eyebrows drawing together in confusion.
"Well, unless you have a spare toothbrush and a fridge full of food.." Steven patted his stomach to show Brandon just how important the last part was for him, then continued: "I need to pick up a few necessities."