above all (m×m) ✔

35) a multitude of days

The day felt like it had multiple days, weeks, months in it. It had started as a good day, laughing and smiling at Steven over the breakfast table before leaving for work. The shift at the bakery had been like any other day at the bakery, and just like any other day, Brandon loved working there.

Taking a nap with Fitzgerald on the couch while waiting for Steven to come home was where one day ended and another began. Getting ready for the event with Steven, yet another day. It wasn't a good or a bad day, but a good day gone bad. Breaking down on his own, after he had sent Steven to the event, wasn't a day at all. It was the darkest night of a long winter. 

Brandon had loathed himself then, and there had been no end to his tears. He had wanted to tear at his arms, to rip that awful feeling off of him. It didn't matter how disappointed Steven was in him, because he could never be as disappointed as Brandon was in himself. He had wanted to go so bad, to make Steven proud of him, but no, he couldn't do even one such simple thing. It was so pathetic. Brandon had sent Steven away so that he could break down in peace, and he hadn't called Shirley. He might as well have died right there and then. 

It had taken Brandon almost an hour to breathe normally, not in fast, harsh gasps, and somewhere along that hour a new day began to dawn. It was a bad day, which rocketed down to the worst day of his life when he picked up his phone and saw the picture Steven had sent him. In it, Steven was grinning and he had his arm thrown over Trey's shoulders. Trey was smiling as well, but that smile was all taunt and no joy.

In that instant, Brandon had forgotten all about his hurt. The twisting, aching pain in his chest was all dread for Steven. What if Trey did something to Steven and the last thing Brandon ever did to him was to send him away? To tell him to go fuck himself? What if he never got to tell Steven how much he already loved him?

Lying under Trey, gasping for air, spitting pills from his mouth and feeling blood drenching his shirt was another level of a shitty day. Brandon's ears were still ringing and his mouth had a bitter taste in it when the elevator doors slid open and the room filled with cops in their uniforms. The muzzle was burning hot against Brandon's stomach where it was pressed in between him and Trey.

What Brandon thought was going to be a sob was a laugh, followed by a series of hysterical cackles. Then someone was wrenching Trey's limp body off of Brandon and patting down his shirt and face. Slowly Brandon started to pick up the noises in the room, the people talking over each other, the faces staring at him, the hand wiping the pills and spit from his mouth and chin.. 

"Please be okay, please be okay, please be okay.." Steven was chanting, his hands still checking for injuries.

Brandon blinked his eyes back to focus, and lifted his hands to take Steven's in them. His heart clenched inside his chest, and the relief was big enough to make his breath hitch: Steven was alive. He was okay. Brandon studied the angry red lines around Steven's wrists, then brought his hands to his lips, kissing them.

"It's not mine." Brandon whispered. The area under his left eye throbbed from the blow Trey had given him and the back of his head was tender to a touch, but none of the blood belonged to him. Brandon had never gone hunting with his dad, but that didn't mean he could have avoided being taught how to shoot a gun. He had promised himself he would never use one, but there they were.

Brandon didn't fight back when Steven pulled him to sit up and into a tight embrace. Brandon clutched his arms around Steven just as desperately, burying his face on Steven's shoulder and breathing in the familiar, reassuring scent. His eyes filled with tears, but he didn't, couldn't, cry.

"I'm never letting you out of my sight again." Steven swore, squeezing Brandon tighter. He was trembling, and it took Brandon a while to realize that he himself was shaking as well. He was never letting go of Steven. "Brandon, I'm so sorry. What I said to you, and leaving like that.. I'm an idiot, and I'm so, so sorry."