Oneshots and Other Things

No More ~ Part 2

Same warnings from the last chapter apply

(*~*)

"What is this?"

Of everything Stephen expects Dec to say, that question is low down on his list. The letter may not be finished yet, but he knows what it will look like. Because of that, he doesn't really know how he's going to get out of explaining himself.

"Nothing," he replies weakly, trying not to immediately storm over and rip the paper up in front of him. That wouldn't achieve anything; Dec has already read it. His answer probably hasn't achieved anything either – it's so clearly not nothing.

"It's not nothing," Dec says predictably, his voice low and mood impossible to decipher. Stephen wonders if he's mad. Then he wonders if he cares. Maybe he's confused because he wouldn't expect to be left a note by Stephen. Maybe he doesn't want to have to talk him out of doing this.

"It's a joke." Stephen tries to be calm but he knows what he looks like, even if he's been avoiding the mirrors in his house for the last week. He hasn't been looking after himself. What's the point, if he's not going to be around much longer?

"Anth and Declan?" Dec's eyes graze the paper again and his voice breaks on the second syllable of his own name. He clears his throat, gaze lifting but not quite getting to Stephen's eye line. "You don't call us that as a joke, Stevie."

Stephen's legs hurt. His muscles are clenched so tightly, he's not sure he can move, even as his body screams at him to run. The only thing he can think to do is to get the letter back. Maybe that will magically erase Dec's memory and they can return to the awkward back and forth of the older man merely suspecting something is wrong, rather than knowing that to be true.

The silence is tense but that gives Stephen the element of surprise. He covers the space between them in three swift steps, reaching out to snatch back the paper, only to have Dec pull it further away. "Give it back!"

"It's addressed to me!" Dec argues back, their voices loud and echoing hollowly around the room. Dec's eyes blaze; not quite anger but Stephen can't figure out what else would make him shout; as his expression starts to crumble.

A lot of Dec's emotions are contagious. His laughter, his giddiness - his tears. Stephen can't blink away the feeling fast enough, his chest stuttering with a tight breath as he reaches out blindly again, wanting nothing except to take away the note that started all of this. If they'd just left him alone, he wouldn't have felt like he owed them this. If he hadn't cared so much, there would have been no guilt over leaving them without an explanation.

"Give it back," he pleads quietly, "You don't know what..."

"I can guess," Dec interjects obstinately. He swears under his breath unsteadily, what he is saying seeming to hit him as he repeats himself. "I can damn well guess, Stephen!"

"Please," Stephen tries again, "You don't understand..."

This time, he trails off without needing to be interrupted. Dec is in less of a hurry to cut him off, eyes wide and waiting. "Understand what, Stevie?"

Too soft. Too gentle. Too much.

Stephen shakes his head, feeling the streaks down his face grow more numerous by the second. Then Dec's body heat pushes against his own, arms wrapping around his back fiercely. The older man's head is buried against Stephen's chest. This is his chance to pull the letter away but he doesn't know how to move. His own arms are raised and stiff, too reluctant to return the embrace but uncertain of what else to do.

"Stevie," Dec whispers despairingly. "No, no, no, no, no. We can talk about this, pet. You can talk to us."

"I can't," Stephen replies almost soundlessly. "You'll talk me out of it."