above all (m×m) ✔

13) solace

Brandon woke up with a jolt, sitting up on his bed and only barely holding back a scream. His shirt stuck to his sweaty skin and when he lifted his hands to his face, they were trembling. A remnant of dread still lingered, making his eyes dart around in the shadowy room. Ready to spot monsters lurking in the shadows, crawling, creeping their way to him.

But the room was the same as always. Messy, cramped, familiar. Safe. Gone were the days in that old shack of a house, whose walls were yellowed by nicotine and whose doors weren't sturdy enough to keep the monsters away. The thin mattress on the floor, the one he shared with Shirley, using his equally small body like a shield so that at least one of them could sleep soundly through the night. 

Brandon hadn't dreamed of his dad's cruelly handsome face for such a long while, that he thought he had grown out of the nightmares. But then again, it wasn't the first time he thought they were gone for good and then found out that wasn't the case. The nightmares had returned in the year of Trey, and became even worse during that time he spent buried deep in dark despair after Trey was gone.

Then, mercifully, Brandon had started to heal. Not necessarily getting back to life, but learning to breathe again. To be fine was better than to be actively dying inside, outside, every possible way. To be tormented by memories and nightmares was better than to remain with those who could and wouldn't hesitate to rip you apart.

Brandon had swum back to the surface, out of the dark despair. One day at a time he had pieced all those broken parts of himself back together. The nightmares had started coming less often, then stopped entirely. And now they had returned, apparently.

Why had Shirley left him a surprise like that? The packed lunch and the note to put it in the fridge when it was cooled, were both nothing out of ordinary. Shirley wanted to make sure Brandon had an actual warm meal every now and then, so she often cooked extra for him. She had even cleared up a bit and washed dishes, both pleasant surprises to Brandon.

But what of the rest? 

Brandon sat in the dark room, trying to will his heartbeat to slow down, his breathing to get back to its natural course. He knew he couldn't fall asleep again. Not when his mind was on overdrive, replaying those images and the terror of the nightmare.

He was certain he was going to lose his mind, if he had to stay alone in his apartment. He could go to Shirley, and she wouldn't ask questions. Day or night, she would be there for him. Only his pride, or what was left of it, kept him from doing so. 

No matter how much Brandon mulled it over, he couldn't understand why Shirley out of all people would want him to remember. She knew how badly Brandon needed to forget that face, those brown eyes so alike his own. He had thought it went without saying, that they had moved on and that he didn't exactly have fond memories to look back to. 

Was it a game? Some riddle he just couldn't wrap his head around?

After what felt like a lifetime, Brandon picked up his phone and plummeted back onto his back. He pulled the cover over his head, in a childish attempt to keep the monsters away. He didn't let himself think twice before opening his screen lock and scrolling through his contacts.

"Brandon?" Steven's drowsy voice answered the call after the second beep. Brandon felt a twinge of guilt and shame for waking Steven up. The voice turned to one of worry, when Brandon didn't answer: "You okay?"

"Sorry, I.. I'm okay." Brandon let out a sigh, swiping his hand over his face. "I shouldn't have woken you up."

"It's okay." Steven murmured, and Brandon could hear rustle as he sat up on his bed. "So.. Can't sleep?"

"Something like that." Brandon lied quickly. What grown man was afraid of his nightmares? The shame almost kept him quiet, until he remembered his promise to be honest with Steven, to let him in. "I had a nightmare."

"Hmh." Steven hummed, understanding, if not a little surprised like he had presumed he wouldn't get anything more out of Brandon. Then there was rustle, as Steven decided to lie down on his bed after all. "Do you want to talk about it?"

"It was just about my dad and.. It's stupid." Brandon shook his head, his voice getting quieter the further he got. "I'll let you get back to sleep now."

"I'm already awake." Steven was quick to object. He likely wanted to make Brandon feel better about the nightmare, as he went on telling, in a soft, calming voice: "Just a few nights back I had this horrible nightmare, where I had to escape from CIA and an army of shadow monsters, but I needed to buy groceries first and, oh boy, that was an operation."

"Did they catch you? The CIA and the.. shadow monsters?" Brandon urged him on, thankful for the distraction. The air was starting to run out under the cover, so he dared to lower it under his chin.

"I'm glad you asked, because, let me tell you, it's impossible to find a perfect disguise leather jacket when the time is ticking by and.." Steven launched into a story, where he needed to find the jacket, pink hair dye and food before it would be too late.

Brandon's eyelids had turned heavy and he was yawning by the time Steven was done telling about his nightmare. It was nice, like Steven was laying on the bed right next to him. They continued talking about everything in between nightmares and their plans for the following week, until, eventually, Brandon must have fallen back asleep. 

He woke up when someone slammed a door shut in the stairway. He rubbed his eyes and gave his head a slight shake, trying to get rid of the disorienting sensation. His phone told him it was past eleven, and he never slept that late, not even on Sundays. 

As the fog seemed to be there to stay, after a while Brandon had no other option that to get up despite of it. He changed into his running gear, still half-asleep and staggered to the kitchen. He only stopped to gulp down a glass of water and then went to the bathroom to take his meds and brush his teeth. Sleeping in truly made a mess of his head. Even by the time he exited the stairway door, he had no idea why he hadn't put on his alarm.

The run, same as he took every Sunday, cleared some of the fog from his head. Not all, but some. The city felt different, when it was wide awake instead of slowly waking up. The shops were already open and the people he normally passed during his run had gone on with their days.

With every thud of his sneakers against the ground, Brandon's mind filled with thoughts of his dad. The cold eyes, the sneer on his lips, the broken coat hanger in his hand. Why did Brandon think about that prick all of a sud— The picture. It was the picture, and.. a nightmare? Did he have a nightmare last night? And all because of some old picture? God, he truly was a wreck. 

When Brandon closed in to his apartment building, he noticed a crouched figure sitting by his stairway door. The figure was smoking, his face clouded by a cloud of gray smoke. Brandon slowed to a walk, then stopped a few feet from the figure. His heart was thudding like a panicked bird against his ribcage and it took him shamefully long to realize who was waiting for him.

"Steven? What are you doing here?" Brandon breathed, making Steven lift his head and meet his gaze with a puzzled one. A pucker appeared between his brows as he stumped the cigarette and stood up. 

"Really?" Steven asked then, the worried frown shifting to a playful smile. He stepped closer, looking at Brandon from head to toe. He lifted an eyebrow, teasingly. "I did tell you I was going to stop by, didn't I?"

"Oh, yeah.. Right." Brandon blinked, the pieces of the puzzle clicking together. His gaze flicked to the brown paper bag dangling on Steven's left hand. Yes. He had a nightmare, called Steven and Steven had told him they would have breakfast together. How could he forget? Brandon chuckled, still a little confused. "I must have been half-asleep already."

"You did fall asleep on me." Steven laughed, then linked their arms together. "Come on, I'm starving."