above all (m×m) ✔

39) him

Brandon wasn't counting days. He had lost count of them a while ago, and didn't bother to check the date from the calendar on his phone. All he knew was that Steven loved him and wanted him to stay even after the criminal proceedings were over. He also knew that he loved the smell of linseed oil and the feel of a brush against a canvas. The rich colors, and the newspapers rustling under his knees.

Brandon could sit down on the floor, and the minutes would stretch into hours while he got lost in the music and the painting in front of him. His back would ache, and his skin would be covered in paint stains by the time he was done. Brandon wanted to believe it would be enough to heal him. That he wouldn't have to break down, or see a therapist, or talk, or cry, if he just painted it all out.

If someone were to ask Brandon how he was doing, he wouldn't have been lying by saying he was fine. He wasn't anxious or sad, just as long as he didn't think about what had happened. Then again, if he did think about it, he felt like someone had sucker-punched the breath out of him. Like the world kept spinning faster and faster until nausea churned in his stomach. 

Steven was content to believe that the painting was enough for Brandon, and Brandon didn't want to increase his burden by telling him how it might not be. Steven had only just stopped tearing up over the smallest of things, and he was still trying to make the decision about his modeling career. 

The music on Brandon's phone turned to his ringtone, and he frowned when he set down his brush and picked up the phone. He hated phone calls, apart from the ones he got from Steven, Shirley or Ash, as his body reacted to them like it was a real danger. Just the ringtone was enough to make his stomach quiver.. The frown only deepened when Brandon read the name Mr. Callahan on the caller ID. 

"Yeah?" Brandon breathed. He grimaced at himself, because that probably wasn't the way a person was supposed to answer a lawyer's call.

"I'm calling about yesterday." Mr. Callahan offered, unnecessarily, as Brandon could put two and two together. He had been at a preliminary hearing the previous day, where they had worked on establishing whether a trial was needed. Mr. Callahan, despite being a public defender, was putting together an impressive defense for Brandon. "So, as you know, the self defense argument is in our favor.."

Mr. Callahan began his monologue about the said argument. He could drone on until even the most patient listener had zoned out, and then drone on some more. What Brandon did pick up from all of it was that his case was extraordinary, and that the only thing working against him was that firearms were considered deadly force regardless of whether the other party had died or not. It was important in the perspective of law or something.

"Be as it may, considering all the crimes Mr. Holbrook committed that evening — violating restraining order, carrying an unregistered firearm to a public place, attempted murder, tampering with medication, stalking and kidnapping — the offense has proposed settlement." Mr. Callahan went on, and Brandon's heartbeat began to pick up its pace.

"Is that a good or a bad thing?" He could only whisper, as he squared his shoulders and clutched his fingers around the phone.

"It's an excellent thing! Brandon, your charges are dismissed, and we are not going to court on your behalf." Mr. Callahan exclaimed, his voice filled with warmth and delight. The man actually loved his job, no matter its rueful wage. 

"I'm not.. I'm not going to jail?" Brandon was still trying to digest what that could possibly mean. A part of him was hopeful, but mostly he was just dazed into stupidity. He had to repeat himself to make some sense to it all: "I'm not going to jail?"

"No, Brandon, you're not going to jail. It's over." Mr. Callahan echoed. Then he began to explain: "Well, okay, there will be a few more legal hearings, but none of those will be.."