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Fictional likes to tie things up with little ribbons and bows, give the consumer some sort of conclusion that they can cling to as word of God, but in the real world, there is no ending, happy or not. Well, there’s death, but who does that give peace? No one.
Certainly not his family.
Certainly not Luke.
And he regrets to admit it, but Steven hasn’t found much peace, either, since they all left Hill House behind. With Nell gone, Steven had taken up his duty as an older brother to take care of Luke. It’s not as easy as it used to be. A bedtime story and a hug won’t do it anymore, and even if they would, it would look comedic. Luke may be shorter than him, but he’s broader, leaps and bounds more masculine, rugged with calluses and scars on his hands that Steven has spent too many nights tracing over.
Luke doesn’t sleep well. Neither does Steven, especially not with the fucking screaming. They spend a lot of time sitting in his barren living room in the middle of the night, drinking hot mint tea, huddled together under a blanket, not talking and not thinking.
It’s a night like that. Two in the morning, huddled side by side under Luke’s duvet, wrapped over both of their shoulders, sides pressed together, Luke in ratty old sweatpants that don’t fit quite right and a NYU t-shirt they picked up at the thrift store a few weeks ago. Steven’s wearing his favourite PJs and a bathrobe, but Luke, who’s always run hot, is warm against his arm.
Luke sniffs and rubs one of his red eyes.
“So…” Steven tries.
“You know what it was about.”
He does. He presses his lips together in a thin line and grunts before taking a slow sip of his tea. They’re not going to talk about it. Luke doesn’t want to talk about it. He won’t even talk about it with a therapist, which is something him and Steven have gotten in more than one screaming match over. It usually ends with both of them in tears.
“Luke, I know-”
“You don’t know.”
It’s been almost six months since their father’s funeral, longer since Nell’s. The end of their stories, but here are Luke and Steven, left behind, restless, peaceless.
Steven shakes his head. He reaches out and takes Luke’s free hand in his.
“I love you,” he says, instead.
“I love you, too,”
Steven traces one of the scars on the inside of Luke’s wrist. He has to put his cup down as his hands start to tremble. It’s only been three months since Luke’s last attempt. Steven doesn’t think he’s ever been more terrified in his entire life. To finally have Luke back in his life, to be one of the only people left who he can call family, and to have him almost taken away. Again.
Luke’s hand covers his, his silent guilt palpable. Steven takes a real breath, breathes in the smell of deodorant, laundry detergent, and sweat, and then he leans over and presses a kiss into Luke’s hair, affection bubbling up inside of him like the white water of river rapids. Luke’s other hand, warm from the teacup, cups the back of his neck as his head tilts up, pressing them forehead to forehead.
Steven’s hand lands on Luke’s kneecap, slides along to the underside, squeezing lightly as he closes the gap between them, barely a brush of lips before he draws back again.
They haven’t talked about it, haven’t acknowledged it, haven’t named it, haven’t looked too deeply into it. It’s just what they need right now.
Luke’s breath comes out shaky. Steven can hear him swallow, can feel the puff of air as he almost speaks before thinking better of it and leaning into another kiss, cupping Steven’s jaw as the fingers of his other hand scratches through the hair at the base of his skull. His mouth tastes faintly of mouth beneath the morning breath and the faint taste of the burgers they had for dinner.
Steven untwists himself in favour of nudging Luke’s legs apart and settling between them, his younger brother’s legs across his thighs and around his hips, keeping distance between them as they meet in the middle to kiss.
“Steve…” Luke whispers. Steven groans his protests about even the slightest idea of talking right now. There’s too much ready to burst for them to start talking now, or who knows what the fuck is going to come out of his mouth. “Steve…” Luke’s hand tights on the back of his neck. “Why us?”
Jesus fuck.
Steven leans back, eyes coming open. Luke is staring at him with wet, pleading eyes. “Why us? Why not Nell? Why not mom? I’m not- I don’t deserve -”
Steven puts a hand over Luke’s mouth, trying and failing to hold his own tears at bay. “Don’t say that.” His voice cracks. “You deserve the world. It’s not your fault horrible things happened. They just happened. It’s no one’s fault.”
Luke’s head drops down, tears dripping over Steven’s palm until he lets go and wraps his arms around his sobbing brother’s shoulder. “It’s no one’s fault, Luke.”