Chapter Text
“Hey,” Connor starts one night after dinner at Dad’s. They’re watching basketball, but not really – Kendall’s finally coming down from a high (a prerequisite to meals with Logan), staring at the rug and disassociating, and Connor’s reading a thick book on Mesopotamia. They haven’t said anything in forty-five minutes.
“Hey,” Connor says, open book resting on his knees, “what ever happened to that Muslim kid who was always glued to your side?”
Kendall doesn’t look away from the TV from where he’s slouched on the couch next to his brother. He figured Connor would break their silence at one point. Kendall’s sweating, left leg bouncing up and down, hardly conducive to Connor’s peaceful reading. But Kendall can hardly hear Connor over how focused he is on listening for any sign of Logan. He keenly aware of how his father would react if he came into the sitting room and discovered how Kendall had devolved since dessert.
Kendall never stayed this long after family dinners – not that he had many opportunities. The forced get togethers were a recent thing. Connor was back from sightseeing in Egypt (“an expedition”) and he said he’d be in New York for a while. Said he wanted to see how his little siblings were faring now that Kendall had graduated college and Siobhan was a freshman. So he’d established a monthly dinner – Dad, Marcia, and all. No one was particularly thrilled about it, save Connor, who disappeared into the kitchen for hours and cooked with the staff. He’d emerge in time for dinner, face matted with sweat, shirtsleeves rolled up, and pour everyone a glass of wine. Then he’d sit next to Roman, usually, or whichever sibling was home that time, and listen keenly to what they had to say. Kendall came to every dinner. Sometimes it was nice to think of Connor making such an effort for them, for the family. Kendall liked to think he made the same efforts at work with Dad. He and Connor were similar in that way. And besides, when Kendall spoke, Connor would listen, and it regularly surprised Kendall that someone, anyone, would consistently be interested in what he had to say.
“Ken.”
“Huh?” Kendall blinks. He glances behind him reflexively, then over at Connor, clearing his throat.
“He’s working, Ken.” Connor says, eyes softening.
Kendall nods, shrugs indifferently, looks down.
“I was asking about that kid you were friends with forever.” Connor prompts him again. “The Muslim guy.”
Kendall frowns. “What—Stewy?”
“Okay.” Connor doesn’t remember the name; he smiles placidly. “The kid who—?”
“Yeah, yeah,” Kendall interrupts him. “Stewy, man. What – why are you asking about him?”
Connor shrugs, giving him that innocuous look again. “I was just thinking of your friends from college. Trying to remember if you’ve mentioned them lately. Then I remembered Stewy. He used to be over here all the time. You’re welcome to bring guests to the family—”
“Haven’t talked to him in a while.” Kendall says. His gaze flickers back to the TV. “Besides, man, he’s not here.”
“Oh.”
“Yeah.” Kendall says. He tells Connor where Stewy works. “He got sent to their Berlin office, like, like almost a year ago now, man. Haven’t heard from him since.”
“Oh.” Connor says.
Kendall shrugs again. “It’s whatever, man.”
Connor seems satisfied by the response, or, at least, doesn’t ask him any other questions. He returns to his book and Kendall returns to staring at the rug in front of him. He shoves his hands in his pockets and squeezes his thighs. He can hear his father’s footsteps in the hallway.
“So, wait a minute,” Connor looks up again, “so then where are you getting the blow?”
--
It seems to Kendall that Logan first considers him an adult in 2003, nearly a year since he started working at Waystar full time. By August, he feels he’s almost won his father’s respect. It’s a delicate dance, to be sure. As long as Kendall does everything 100% correct and participates thoughtfully in all meetings and answers all emails promptly, Logan will pat him on the shoulder and contort his lips into something resembling a smile.
It’s not like he sees Logan every day, but that doesn’t really matter. Logan has eyes and ears everywhere, even with Kendall working an entry-level position at Waystar in some sort of grand show of humility, just like Logan wanted. He gets along with the other entry-level workers just fine. He can bullshit his way through most conversations, especially when his coworkers just want to talk shop. But he knows his dad will promote him in a year’s time. He knows this as assuredly as he knows he could also fuck it up by saying the wrong thing in front of one of Logan’s spies, and Logan would take it all away from him. It’s both things at once.
He is promoted, though. He makes it through the first round of Logan tests. By summer 2003, he’s a mid-level manager, and he begins a new round of his father’s tests.
It’s like this: don’t stop working on weekdays. Don’t stop partying on weekends. Even getting high in club bathrooms can be networking opportunities. He’s on his own now – all of his college friends are scattered around the country, the world. His siblings are adults (Shiv just barely). He has his own place. He’s on his own for the first time in his life. He can devote more himself to work that way.
But it’s good. He’s busy. Plus, he spends most of his free time listening to The Eminem Show, playing the CD back to front, then back again, headphones pressed against his ears like they’re glued there. He plays the CD over and over until “Business” starts to skip, and he goes out and buys two more of the same album, just in case the next one starts to skip, too.
--
Before Connor brought him up, Kendall hadn’t really thought about Stewy in a while. It was kind of a record for him. They certainly hadn’t been physically separated for this long since before they were even ten years old. It’s something Kendall hadn’t stopped to analyze how he felt about.
It’s not like they had had a fight. They had been fine up until and through college graduation, and they had even helped each other move into their new apartments, which were just blocks apart. Then things stayed the same for a while. Stewy and Kendall met up on the weekends that summer, or, better put, Kendall met Stewy at whatever club Stewy had chosen to cruise into, entourage in tow and drugs in his pockets. Kendall loved everything about it, the drugs, the loud music, the people Stewy seemed to find out of nowhere, Swedish painters and Lebanese businesswomen and American tennis players. And they all knew Stewy. Stewy was as old as Kendall, had experienced many of the same milestones as Kendall, but on nights out he could seem like a celebrity to Kendall, like a star out of place. But Stewy didn’t treat him differently when he was with others, didn’t leave him on his own or steer his entourage away from Kendall, Stewy’s quiet, self-serious, childhood friend who always drank more than he could handle. Stewy would get as high as Kendall and introduce him to someone new and then drag him onto the dance floor, and sometimes, sometimes, in the haze of the designer drugs, Stewy would pull Kendall close to him and they’d dance.
That summer is a delirious time. Kendall feels like everything’s possible, everything’s ahead of him. And Stewy’s still by his side. Stewy, who knew everyone and had everything and hadn’t needed Kendall’s reassurance for shit since they were eight, but still kept Kendall around anyway.
After September 2001, when Kendall sees the towers crumble from his comfortable office on Wall Street, Kendall goes out less. At first it’s out of some sort of solemn respect, an, oh, okay, I could probably take this weekend off. And then October rolls around and Kendall still thinks maybe he shouldn’t be so jubilant. Spends more time sleeping around than he ever had before, cruising apartments instead of nightclubs.
And when he finally calls Stewy, asks if he was getting a group together to go back out soon, Stewy doesn’t answer right away. When he does, it’s to tell Kendall that he has to go away for a bit. And then, more to the point – that he’s been transferred out of the country.
“Shit, dude,” Kendall says, “that’s fantastic.” He feels faint. “I mean, uh, wow.” He tries to press Stewy for more details, when he has to go, how long he’s going to be gone, how he feels about the transfer, (will he miss him), (should Kendall wait for him), but Stewy has work to do and doesn’t have time to say anything else. He ends the call. They don’t speak again for a year.
--
He’s getting lunch one day over a year later, in that August where he first feels his father’s respect. He’s schmoozing a potential shareholder, showing her the best lunch Manhattan has to offer, and oozing so much confidence he’s almost giddy just from the way he catches his smirking reflection against his wine glass.
He hasn’t determined if he needs to fuck this shareholder yet. Sometimes that helps seal the deal. Logan taught him that. He’s young still, and lankier than he’d like, but he finds that works well with women in about her age range. He can tell he’s already charmed her with the restaurant choice and the way he keeps the conversation going, keeps talking to her about all Waystar has to offer if they bought her company out. How determined he is to make this deal.
He’s not totally on his own. The deal is actually important, one Waystar would hate to lose. High enough stakes that it could make a man out of Kendall, but not the end of the world if Kendall falls through. Logan knows this, of course. It’s another test. He’s sent Frank along for the ride to report back. Kendall can see Frank out of the corner of his eye, sitting at a table further away. He’d come up to Kendall that morning at the office, patted his back, said he could always ask him to come in and take over if needed, okay, pal? Kendall would be mad if it was anyone else.
The shareholder excuses herself to go to the bathroom and for a moment Kendall actually eats his food, hand gripping his fork so tightly his knuckles turn white. He’s stuffing salad in his face when he hears someone say his name.
“Oh shit,” he says, looking up at an old college friend, Aaron. “Dude.”
“Dude, look at you.” Aaron says. He beams, holds his arms out so that Kendall is forced to get up, give him a brief, impersonal hug. “Kendall fucking Roy. You here for work?”
“Yeah, man.” Kendall says. “You?”
“Absolutely. Scouting out a good table for the client as we speak.” He says. “Well, what the fuck, man? How are you?”
“Fucking great, man.” Kendall says, taking a sip of wine to wash down the spinach. “Mm, it’s been like, what? Two years?”
“Feels like it, at least. You been at Waystar?”
“Yeah,” Kendall nods.
“Yeah, that’s why I don’t see you, huh. Man, I fucking see your old roommate more than you, nowadays.”
“Who, Stewy?” Kendall says. “But not, like, recently, right?”
“What’s ‘recently’?” Aaron asks. “I mean, I saw him last week, is that recent enough? We had a work thing we had to bang out. My guys work with his guys sometimes.”
“Stewy.” Kendall says again. “Stewy Hosseini.”
“What other brown guy with that kinda name—”
“You saw him last week.” Kendall presses, stunned. “That’s bullshit, man. No way. He’s been out of the country.”
“Listen, bro, I don’t know what to say.” Aaron holds up his hands. “I saw the man last week. He practically lives at that office, bro, all you have to do is go over there.”
“Uh, okay, uh, sure, man. Sure.” Kendall says. He catches his shareholder coming back from the bathroom, and he swallows hard, clears his throat. “Maybe I’ll go see him, then.” He forces a smile. “Hey, good to see you, man,” he lies, “keep in touch.”
--
The shareholder takes him back to her penthouse after the lunch, insistent that they speak more privately. He knows what it means. He’s certain he’s known he’d have to fuck this client all along to get her to sign over to Waystar. He doesn’t waste any time when she closes the door to her place, pressing her against the door, one hand at her breast, but she’s older than Kendall, more patient. Or maybe she can see through him. When she takes him into the bedroom and comes to straddle him from behind, working his shirt off slowly, she tells him to lean back, to relax.
“You’re thinking about something,” she says, when Kendall leans against her like she tells him to.
“About you.” He says.
“Was it that man who you were speaking to at lunch?” She asks. When he doesn’t dismiss this right away, she says, “What did he tell you to get you so tightly coiled?”
Kendall huffs out a laugh, cranes his head back until they’re kissing. They don’t speak after that.
Afterwards, he takes a shower while she signs the contract. On the way back to the office, he calls Logan with the good news.
--
Logan praises him in front of his siblings at the next family dinner. When Logan raises his glass in a toast Kendall feels like his father is lifting him up instead, so he’s floating, levitating on his father’s pride in him. He feels humility, graciousness, exhaustion, relief, adoration, hubris, glee. He drinks another glass of wine.
He does float, in a way. He’s so high off his father’s acknowledgement that he’s barely present during the dinner itself. He registers that Roman is next to him, going on and on about some anecdote from school, Connor egging him on like he would a small child, but he’s not listening. He can feel his heart beating against his chest. He can feel his father’s gaze flicking between his children, almost attentive for once. Kendall doesn’t want ever forget his father in this moment.
“What do you mean, they hurt this boy?” Marcia’s voice comes in and out of his awareness, a distant radio station.
“I mean they beat the shit out of him.” Roman says. Kendall catches his shrug out of the corner of his eye, feels himself start to descend back to the ground.
“Tell it to me again.” Marcia says. “What did this boy do to deserve this?”
Roman squirms, mutters something under his breath, and finally Kendall glances over at him, tries to piece together what he’s talking about. Roman’s on fall break from college. He always comes back with fantastical stories, only half of them discernably true, something he no doubt picked up from Connor. Kendall doesn’t believe the stories, but Roman talks about college more than he ever did about military school, and Kendall is still sometimes surprised when Roman offers new insights into his world. He’s not sure how to respond, what Roman wants him to say. He leaves that to Connor.
“Son.” Logan says.
“Okay, okay,” Roman says, exasperated. He puts down his fork. “So, he just, like – there’s this Muslim guy. At school. And he’s, like, stupid creepy. Especially since, you know, everything that happened. And these guys I know, they were just, like, sick of him. And I was walking across campus back to my place one night and they saw me and asked me if I wanted in and shit and I – I mean, I said no, right? Of course, I said no. But I, like, I stuck around. And then this guy – the Muslim guy – comes around the corner and they jump him and beat the shit out of him.”
“And then what?” Connor asks.
Roman gives him a weird look. “What do you mean? Then we – they – let him go and we laughed about it.”
“Was this boy hurt?” Marcia asked. Roman looks strained.
“Sorry,” Kendall finally cuts in. “What did he do, again?”
“He was creepy as shit!” Roman throws up his hands. “He didn’t – it’s just a funny story. It’s funny. That’s all I’m trying to say. No one was, like, fucking hospitalized or whatever.”
“Because…”
“Because he’s different.” Logan finishes. “Right? An immigrant?”
“I mean, guys like him are kinda, like, persona non gra—”
“You know, Roman, your father is an immigrant.” Marica says.
Roman rolls his eyes dramatically. “I know that. But, I mean, Dad’s from, like, you know, from one of the good countries.”
“Unlike me?” Marcia asks.
Logan laughs at that, smirking at Marcia from across the table. “She’s got you, son.” He says. “Give it up.” Roman deflates.
--
He goes to Stewy’s office a few days later, late in the afternoon. He’s not quite sure what he’ll do when he sees him, if he’s really back, but he goes ahead and blocks off the rest of his day, tells his assistant to take off, too. They’d get back to work in the morning. Plus, he actually feels he’s earned some time off.
He walks over to the skyscraper where Stewy works, where he apparently may have been working for at least a week. The walk is good for Kendall; it gives him an opportunity to figure out how exactly he’s going to react if Stewy starts to goad him about running over to see him, about, God forbid, missing him. His current plan is to deny everything. To give Stewy a once over and then shrug, pretend not to care. Then drag him out of the office and buy him a drink and hope Stewy had enough drugs on him to get them both blitzed. He’d already done a line in the bathroom before walking over to help him come up with all these ideas.
He has every intention of striding straight over to the elevators when he pushes through the glass doors of the building, but a chipper-faced young assistant behind the welcome desk ushers him over.
“Who are you here to see?”
“Hosseini, fourth floor.” Kendall says. “I know where I’m going.”
“Sorry, who?”
“Hosseini,” Kendall repeats, growing impatient. The assistant looks over a list of names.
“Sorry…uh. Oh, I see who you mean. Mr. Hosseini is actually on the eighth floor now.” She glances up at him, pushes up her glasses. “Does that sound right?” She tells him that Stewy works for the company that owns the vast majority of the floors in the building, one far more prestigious than the one that occupied the first four floors, and where Stewy had been just a year ago.
“Uh, okay.” Kendall says. “Uh—”
“Do you want me to let him know you’re on your way?”
“No, just, listen – are we good? Can I go, now?” Kendall says.
“Oh.” She flushes. “Yes,” she says. “I’m sorry. It’ll be faster if you go to the elevators in the back. That way you can avoid the metal detector.”
--
There’s a security guard when he steps onto the company’s floor, but he takes one look at Kendall and waves him through without patting him down. Kendall’s not surprised to see an officer there. All the fancy Wall Street companies, with their close proximity to the towers and their skyscraper-sized egos, were convinced they would be subject to whatever terrorist attack came next. The guards were an inconvenience, but most let Kendall go without much trouble.
It's easy enough to find Stewy. He’s in the first office Kendall sees, in a row of offices Kendall assumes belongs to the other young associates. But it’s a fancy enough office; one wall is just windows. Stewy’s there, pacing back and forth, on a conference call. His arms are crossed against his chest.
Kendall stops and just watches him for a moment, not expecting to find him so quickly. Stewy’s taken his jacket off, and with his arms crossed, Kendall thinks he looks stronger than when he last saw him. Stewy in general looks a little older, a little more mature worn. He’s shaved the beard he painstakingly groomed their senior year of college, and his hair is cut shorter on the sides, black curls on top.
Stewy says something and the call must end, then, because Stewy looks relieved. He cranes his neck to the side, pops it, does the same to the other side. Then he returns to his desk. Kendall takes this as his cue and opens the door to Stewy’s office without pretense.
“In a minute—” Stewy starts, but when he locks eyes with Kendall, he stops short.
Looking into his brown eyes, Kendall’s coke-riddled plans fall short. He lets out a soft breath instead, trying to wrap his head around Stewy looking at him, standing and breathing in front of him, after so many months.
“Kendall.” Stewy says. His voice gives away nothing, but Kendall can see he’s surprised.
Kendall licks his lips, tries for inquisitive. “Let me get this straight, man.” He starts. “Your old place sends you on an all-expenses-paid trip to Nightclub City for a year, and as thanks you not only leave their sorry asses, but you start working for their rivals?”
“I—”
“And I must be on the ‘fuck you’ list, too, right?” Kendall’s mind is working faster than his mouth. “Or were you going to get around to telling me you were back?” His hand grips the doorknob. “Did I ruin the surprise?”
“And I’m supposed to believe you missed me, man?” Stewy says. “Is that what you’re saying?”
“What, too busy partying to send me a postcard?” Kendall lobs back.
Stewy’s still smirking, but he shakes his head, breaking eye contact with Kendall. “It wasn’t a vacation, Ken.”
“Right.” Kendall says. “Sure. You begged them to send you to Berlin for the career opportunities.”
“What do you want, Ken?” Stewy says.
Kendall’s hand still grips the doorknob. He watches for a moment while Stewy organizes some loose papers on his desk, shoves them into an accordion folder. He starts to scrawl something on a notepad.
“Wanted to know if the rumors were true.” Kendall finally says. “That you’re really here.”
“I don’t have anything on me, you know.” Stewy says, looking up after tossing his pen aside. “If that’s why you’re here. Hard to smuggle narcotics in nowadays.”
“Why?” Kendall asks. “Oh, they make you go through all those patdowns and shit?”
“Yeah, they don’t just do that to you because you’re not employed here, bro.”
“Oh, they didn’t do it to me.” Kendall says. “Guess I look pretty fucking harmless.”
Stewy raises his eyebrows at that, nods slowly. “Well,” he says then, “since I can’t get you high, I’m not sure what use I am to you right now, so. I should get back to work, man.”
“Bullshit, man. It’s almost 5 o’clock.” Kendall says. “Let me buy you a drink.”
“Ken—”
“C’mon, man. You owe me. You really thought you could be back all this time, not tell me, and get away with it?”
Stewy shakes his head. “You win, man.” He says, and Kendall detects a hint of fondness. “Let’s at least eat first.”
--
Kendall insists on going to one of their old haunts after dinner, all but drags Stewy to the dark-lit pub, a high-class establishment in the style of a sports bar. A chance for rich businessmen like themselves to pretend they’re salt of the earth. Kendall and Stewy would come here when they wanted to show their other college friends when they met in the city how humble they were about all their money. Besides, it was a place where they could actually talk, as opposed to the nightclubs they also used to frequent.
“Hey, you fuck that guy’s business or something?” Kendall asks with a smirk as he and Stewy settle into a wraparound corner booth. They’d barely made it through the door before some older guy, taller than the both of them, blonde hair fading to gray, had given Stewy such a dirty glare that Kendall had stopped to watch the guy leave, dumbstruck. Stewy had kept walking.
Stewy ignores the question, gestures towards the bartender, and orders some top-shelf liquor for the both of them. He tells the bartender to leave the bottle. Kendall had chosen the booth specifically so he could sit closer to Stewy, really look him over. Besides the haircut and the babyface and the lines under his eyes, he still seemed the same. Wore the same cologne. Wore the same, pristine clothes.
Once Stewy downs a few drinks, he seems more amiable. “Mm, happy now?” He says, showing Kendall how much progress they had already made at emptying the liquor bottle. He pours himself another.
“Uh, I will be, dude.” Kendall says. “Once I crack this fucking mood of yours.”
“No mood.” Stewy says. He turns fully towards Kendall, back to everyone else in the bar. He rests his head on his fist and gives Kendall his first genuine smile of the night. “It’s good to see you, Kenny.”
Kendall can feel himself grinning. He downs his own drink and fills both their glasses once more. “You bastard. Can’t believe you didn’t tell me you were back.”
“What can I say.” Stewy muses. “More office space comes with more work.”
“Right. You’re lucky I ran into Aaron.”
“Lucky? Aaron?” Stewy says. “If you say so.”
“And?” Kendall says, giving Stewy an expectant smile. Kendall’s knee brushes against Stewy. Stewy’s still angled towards him, hasn’t turned around to look at the other bar patrons, to see if he knew anyone or could pass out a business card. It warms Kendall. Makes him feel that Stewy, maybe, might have missed him.
“And?” Stewy echoes.
“Berlin, man. How was it?” Kendall says. “C’mon, don’t fucking hold out on me. Tell me everything.”
“Everything,” Stewy nods. He takes a drink. “Well, that wall’s still up, you know.”
“The wall?”
“The Berlin Wall, heard of it?” Stewy says. “I mean, it’s mostly down. But they kept parts of it up for, like, tourism and solemn remembrance and shit. Kind of a nice metaphor.” He smiles distantly. “And I worked my ass off,” Stewy continues, free hand gripping his glass. “And I finished the project I was sent to do in less than a year, and then I started looking for a new fucking job.”
“And you danced naked at cabarets every fucking night and, and, like, did so much fucking E—”
“That’s more your lane, huh, Ken?” Stewy says, and God help him, he winks at Kendall. Kendall grins again, a big, toothy, smile, and he’s sure he looks like an idiot, but there’s something about Stewy’s confidence and charm that has always been intoxicating to Kendall. At first, he thought he just wished he could be as suave as Stewy. Maybe that was still true. But he had been entranced by Stewy nearly as long as he’d admired him. At this point, he couldn’t untangle the two. And it had been a year, a year without his oldest friend, without Stewy’s presence in his life.
“God, I missed you.” Kendall says before he can stop himself. He can’t quite meet Stewy’s eyes anymore. Stewy’s eyes darken. He smiles, rueful, before he drops Kendall’s gaze and pours himself another drink.
“C’mon, man.” Stewy whispers.
“Sorry.” Kendall says automatically. He watches Stewy tilt his head back and drain the glass. He swallows. In the dark lighting Stewy’s olive skin looks soft, warm, like it’s emanating light. How skin looks when you hold candlelight up next to it. Kendall’s hands wrap around his glass for something to hold, to distract himself. He takes another drink.
“I don’t buy this, by the way.” Stewy says after a moment. “This act you’re doing.”
“What act?” Kendall blinks.
“Like you’ve been sitting around every day since I left waiting for me to come back.” Stewy says. “C’mon, man, I know you’ve been busy. I heard you’ve moved up.”
“Yeah.” Kendall shrugs. “Yeah, business is good. Dad is good. You know, he, uh, he’s trusting me with more lately, which is, I mean—”
“That’s what you wanted.” Stewy finishes for him.
“Yeah. Fuck yeah.” Kendall nods. “Since…always. And, he, uh, I mean, just the other day, I sealed a pretty important acquisition. Dad trusted me with that from the beginning and I delivered for him.”
“Fuck yeah, man.” Stewy says. He slaps Kendall on the shoulder. His brief touch electrifies Kendall. He laughs off his nervousness, his desire to take Stewy into the bathroom and kiss him breathless.
“Ken?”
“Huh?” Kendall blinks, realizes Stewy has said something to him. Stewy’s brows furrow.
“I asked who the client was.”
Kendall tells him and Stewy nods, impressed. “How’d you manage that?”
“My business acumen, of course.” Kendall says, puffing out his chest. Stewy laughs, holds up his hands in surrender.
“Of course,” he says.
Kendall laughs, too, and says, “that, and I had to fuck her for it, as one does.”
Stewy scoffs, and when Kendall doesn’t blink Stewy tilts his head slightly, still smiling, but inquisitive. “You serious, bro?”
Kendall downs the rest of his drink, shrugs. “Yeah, man. I mean, kinda think that’s why Dad had me talk to her in the first place. Heard she kinda has a thing for, like, you know. Guys like me or whatever. But, I mean, it was like, 90% business. She was already on board before we fucked.”
Stewy takes this in, rubs at his forehead with his hand. He’s had more to drink than Kendall, and it takes a moment for Stewy to really think this through. Kendall watches him in anticipation.
“Sorry, man.” Stewy says, finally. “I’ve missed some shit, I guess.”
“Well, dude—”
“Has Logan always whored you out, or did that come with the promotion?”
“Fuck off.” Kendall feels his heartbeat ratchet up. “You’re twisting what I’m saying.”
“Mm, am I?”
“Dude.” Kendall scoffs. He blinks a few times, swallows hard. “Dude, you’re not listening. Dad knew I was the best person for the job. He asked me to do it and I delivered.”
“Yeah, but he knew a fuck wouldn’t hurt, either. I mean, right, Ken? He knew that.”
“This is a big accomplishment for me, Stew.” Kendall says. “I was able to do this for Dad. Why are you making it into something bad?” He reaches out when he says this, rests his hand on Stewy’s arm. It’s important to him that Stewy see his side on this. Stewy was usually quick to doubt Logan’s intentions, and Kendall was used to that, but Logan had really trusted him with this, had come to expect so much more from Kendall since Kendall and Stewy had last spoken. Kendall was proud of himself. “I can’t get a ‘congratulations’?” He asks meekly.
“Congratulations.” Stewy says. Kendall can tell he doesn’t mean it. He can tell by the way Stewy sits properly now, straight ahead, no longer angled towards Kendall. Kendall mirrors him. He reaches for the bottle and pours them both another drink. Stewy stares at his hands.
“Congratulations, man.” Stewy says again, voice softer this time.
“Yeah, okay.” Kendall says, cheeks flushed.
“Hey, c’mon, I’m sorry, bro.” Stewy says. “You wanna celebrate? I’ve got stuff over at mine. That’s what you wanted anyway, right?”
--
The way Kendall feels after he snorts his first line next to Stewy in over a year is almost euphoric. It’s mostly because Stewy always has the good shit, he’ll admit, the kind of coke that self-diagnosed coke connoisseurs like Kendall dream of when they do lines of shittier coke. But it’s the atmosphere, too. The intimacy of Stewy’s penthouse and the leather couch they’re sprawled on, now. There’s nothing particularly personal about the penthouse itself – Stewy doesn’t have one thing in the home that wasn’t designed specifically for the place, and the things on his walls are abstract art paintings, also not chosen by him. But it smells like Stewy, like his cologne and the wood-y candle he likes to burn in the front room, and the spices he likes to use when he cooks. The smell is intoxicating.
“Oh fuck,” Stewy says besides him, swiping at his nose. He shakes his head dramatically, rolls his shoulders.
“Relaxed, man?” Kendall muses.
And Stewy seems more comfortable here, too. Which is somewhat new – Stewy was usually the one who sauntered into random places, totally in his element, looking for people he knew, because he knew so many. But tonight, at the bar, he’d barely looked around at anyone else, besides that guy who’d glared at him. Hadn’t seemed interested.
“Mm, yeah, man.” Stewy says, shrugging off his jacket and reaching down to untie his shoes.
“C’mon, let’s do another.” Kendall says, already cutting a new line. But Stewy shakes his head.
“I’m out, man.” He slips off his shoe awkwardly. They’d had more to drink when they got back to Stewy’s place. They were both pretty shitfaced at this point.
“Don’t be a pussy, man.” Kendall says. He does another line, leans against the back of the couch. “Oh, fuck. Oh shit, that’s it.”
“That’s what you’ve been missing, huh?” Stewy says. He gets up, paces around the room a little before he pads over to the kitchen. He pours them both some water and sets the glasses on the ottoman. His aim is off. Some of the water splashes onto the ottoman when he sets the glasses down. “Drink that, man.” Stewy says as he settles back onto the couch.
Kendall does, gulps down as much as he can before he sets the glass aside. “Dude,” he slurs, edging closer to Stewy on the couch. “Your skin was glowing. At the bar. It was like, it was fucking glowing, man. Like someone had plugged you in and you were just—” he gestures vaguely, “—all lit up.”
Stewy snorts. “You’re high as fuck, man.”
“I couldn’t stop looking at your neck.” Kendall continues. He feels hazy; the only thing that really matters to him right now is making sure Stewy knows this, understands what he saw. “It’s like,” he reaches his hand out, traces the outline of a vein on Stewy’s neck. “It’s like the light was all bundled up, here.”
Stewy tilts his head back against the couch cushions, lets out a breath. “You never make sense, Ken.”
“You were beautiful.” Kendall says, and when Stewy doesn’t say anything, Kendall gets up. He turns out all the lights in the penthouse except for one of the floor lamps, but when that light isn’t a good enough replicant, he tries another, one further away from them.
“Yeah,” he says to himself. Then: “Yeah, Stew. This… this is pretty m-much how you looked.” He looks over at his friend, who could almost be asleep if Kendall couldn’t see how his smile betrayed him.
“And I was beautiful.” Stewy says.
“Dude.” Kendall says. “You’re all lights. How can that not be beautiful.”
Stewy opens his eyes, tilts his head over to look at Kendall, who’s standing stupidly next to the lamp still.
“Am I?” Kendall says, then, because he’s delirious from the lamplight. “Dude, am I glowing?”
Stewy nods ever so slightly. Kendall still can’t tell if Stewy believes him or not. “Like a star, man.” He says anyway, and it’s enough for Kendall. He keeps the lamp on and walks over to Stewy in the dimly-lit room. He kneels in front of him. Stewy watches him, pupils blown. He’s wasted enough that he can’t look Kendall squarely in the eyes. When Kendall places his hand on Stewy’s crotch, his eyes flutter closed.
“Wait—” He breathes out.
“Ssh, let me do this.” Kendall says. He presses his hands against Stewy’s thighs and tugs until Stewy slides forward. Kendall unzips his slacks.
“Ken, I don’t—” Stewy tries again. “Let’s not—”
“You don’t want me to?” Kendall asks. “I want to. It’s been so long, bro.” He slips his hand underneath the hem of Stewy’s briefs. When Stewy doesn’t say anything, Kendall smirks, wraps his hand around Stewy’s cock. “Just relax, man,” he says.
Kendall feels like his knees might give out from how wobbly he is, but when he feels Stewy grow hard he focuses all his unsteady energy into this, this sensation he’d missed for so long. He feels himself grow hard, too, ignores himself for now.
Kendall unhooks Stewy’s belt and tugs his trousers down so they bundle by his knees. He tugs at his briefs, too, and strokes Stewy’s cock to full hardness. Stewy leans back against the couch, rests a hand over his face. He’s tense, eyes closed. He doesn’t expect Kendall to take his cock in his mouth until he does so, and Stewy lets out a strangled noise, surprised.
Kendall smiles, positioning himself better before taking Stewy in deeper. His hands squeeze Stewy’s thighs, like he remembers dimly Stewy likes, and Stewy moans. He bobs his head as he finds a rhythm, making quick work of Stewy, eager for Stewy to unravel, to see them as Kendall does right now, shrouded in warmth and beauty and light. Stewy’s hands grip the couch cushion when Kendall’s free hand comes to brush against his balls, and finally his hips buck, snapping forward. Kendall makes a noise of encouragement and Stewy lets out a wet breath, sitting forward hastily, starting to fuck Kendall’s mouth as earnestly as his drunkenness allows. Kendall’s hands move down to stroke his own cock over his pants.
When Stewy comes it’s with a light gasp, and his hands come momentarily to stutter, grasp, hold Kendall’s shoulders tight. Kendall swallows him down and comes not long after, just from his hands and the sensation of Stewy fucking his mouth.
Stewy sits back, pulls his briefs back up with clumsy hands. He tilts over on the couch until he’s splayed out on his side. “Fuck you, man,” he whispers, voice raw. His eyes are squeezed shut. He doesn’t say anything else. Kendall pats Stewy’s arm with an unsteady hand, feels this is something he should do. If they were a bundle of light before, now they’re thousands of scattered stars all across the sky. Kendall leans forward, still on his knees, until his head rests against Stewy’s calves. He closes his eyes and sees the milky way.