above all (m×m) ✔

19) her

If he ran fast enough, maybe he could outrun his troubles, leave his shadows behind. He had already burned out all the energy he had in his muscles, but adrenalin kept him pushing through the burning in his legs, the ache in his chest. He couldn't make himself stop and take a breath.

Brandon didn't know the streets, and it took him a while to realize why that was. He had taken a turn left, to escape what he was seeing. What he thought he was seeing. He had deviated from his usual route, and he had a feeling that he had ran too far away from his apartment.

Nothing made sense to Brandon that morning. At least not since the reflection he had seen on his way past one of the stores on his usual track. The tied up, blond hair, the eyes made hollow by the hard shadows casted on his face, the smile. The taunting smile, the nod of recognition.

Then the sun had emerged behind the clouds, its brightness momentarily blinding Brandon. He had to blink his eyes, to get rid of the burned, white spots in his vision. When he turned around, the street behind him was empty. So, he had taken the next available turn and sprinted away as fast as his legs could carry him.

"I don't want to do this, but you leave me with no other choice."

Brandon stepped onto the curb and his ankle twisted to the side, but he managed to slip his leg up just before he fell onto it. He stumbled to a halt, leaning his hands to his knees and gasping for air. Sweat was trickling down his back, making his shirt stick to his skin. His eyes darted around, but he knew none of the buildings or the names of the streets. He had gotten lost in his own city.

"I saw how you looked at him. You like him, don't you?"

Brandon dry-heaved, nauseated by the heat and the panic taking over. What was he doing there? How was he going to find his way back home? And, above all, what the hell was going on? Nothing made sense. He shook his head: no, he didn't have feelings for Håkan. They worked together. They were friends. Just friends.

"You two are fucking, is that it?"

No, they weren't, they were just working together. They.. Brandon shook his head again, this time to drive away the fog in his head. Steven. He needed Steven. Steven would never get jealous over a co-worker, not like that. The thought was enough to clear Brandon's mind, to bring him some clarity. Brandon fished his phone from the pocket of his sweatpants.

Only after the third ring did he realize it was only half past five and that Steven had been at Brody's the previous night. He had probably only staggered home some hours ago, so of course he didn't answer. Brandon pinched the bridge of his nose and let out a sound that was somewhere between a groan and a laugh. He cut the call, put his phone back into his pocket and turned back to the direction he had come from.

One step at a time Brandon dragged his exhausted body back home, walking when he could no longer run. Finding his way back was easy; he knew those streets and he had never truly been lost. Just disoriented. Horribly, formidably disoriented. It was all starting to make sense again, and he could only laugh at the absurdity of his behavior a few moments ago. Laugh, because he wasn't ready to face any other option.

Brandon headed straight to the shower, mindful of the limited amount of hot water. And still, somehow, he found himself standing under an icy spray of water, shivering from head to toe. He was starting to think that his sense of time had turned skewed, and that he was losing seconds, minutes, hours of it amidst his days.

A clatter from the kitchen made Brandon's heart lurch with panic, as he hadn't heard anyone getting in. Someone had tried his door a while back, so how far-fetched was it to think that someone had gotten in? Brandon wiped his body dry, pulling on his clothes while his skin was still glistening with water that dripped from his soaking wet hair. He had half a mind of picking up anything that could be used as a weapon, but then just stepped out of the bathroom.