Chapter 39 #2
"Right then," Colin said eventually, draining his industrial-strength tea. "Let's get going."
They rose to leave. Stephen reached for Ryland's hand. Lysander stuck close to their father. The photographers could document this all they wanted. Let them try to make scandal from a family who met invasion with plumbing supplies and beige food and the revolutionary act of continuing to exist.
As they headed back into the warehouse proper, Stephen caught Ryland's eye. "Thank you," he murmured. "For being here. For understanding this."
"I've recalculated our defensive positions for the return journey," Ryland replied.
Stephen squeezed his hand and followed his family into the bright orange aisles, ready to face whatever came next. Even if it was just his father spending the next hour in the power tool section.
* * *
The chicken grease had already started seeping through the bottom of the box, creating translucent patterns on Colin's kitchen table.
"Three piece meal for each of us, extra chips, assortment of dips," Ryland announced, unpacking their feast. "The protein-to-carbohydrate ratio remains suboptimal, but I've grown oddly fond of their inconsistent cooking temperatures."
"Look at you being such a big, strong alpha provider," Stephen said, stealing a chip before Ryland could finish arranging everything into neat categories.
Lysander rolled his eyes. "Please don't encourage him."
"If I actually were a big, strong alpha, I would have selected significantly healthier options," Ryland muttered, lining up the chicken pieces with geometric precision. "Grilled fish. Quinoa. Perhaps a vegetable that hasn't been deep-fried into submission."
"But you didn't," Stephen pointed out, stealing another chip. "Because you're perfect."
"I'm pragmatic," Ryland corrected. "I've calculated that attempting to enforce optimal nutrition would result in relationship conflict outweighing any health benefits."
"What, no sex for a week?" Lysander suggested with a smirk.
The whack to the back of his head came swift and precise, Colin's parental reflexes still sharp after twenty-five years.
"Ow!" Lysander rubbed his head. "What? I was just applying his logic to its natural conclusion."
"There are some conclusions," Colin said mildly, returning to his tea, "that don't need stating at the dinner table."
Lysander's mobile buzzed against the coffee table. Again. For approximately the eight hundredth time that evening.
"Turn it off," Stephen said through a mouthful of chicken. "Or throw it out the window. I'm not fussy."
"Can't." Lysander didn't look up from whatever digital train wreck he was monitoring. "Need to document the harassment for the lawyers."
The phone buzzed. Stephen's eye twitched.
"Look at this," Lysander said, holding his mobile screen out towards Stephen. "The Mirror's website. 'TWIN BORES: Huxley Brothers' Mundane DIY Trip Disappoints.'"
Stephen leaned forward, scanning the article.
The photos showed exactly what they'd intended: four people looking terminally uninterested in plumbing supplies.
Ryland examining sealant with scientific intensity.
Colin comparing prices. Lysander somehow making the B&Q trip look like a personal tragedy.
"The comments are brilliant," Lysander continued. "'My nan's shopping trips are more exciting.' 'What next, exclusive footage of them paying council tax?'"
"Mission accomplished then," Colin said, distributing plates. "Made ourselves more boring than Countryfile. They'll lose interest soon enough."
Buzz. Buzz. Buzzzzzzz.
"Jesus Christ," Stephen snapped. "What's he want, a kidney?"
"That's just Dane," Lysander said, finally acknowledging the relentless notifications. "He's angry I shut down my OnlyFans account."
Stephen nearly choked on his chicken. "You did what?"
"Shut it down. This morning. Well, technically it's a sixty-day wind-down period for existing subscribers, but no new content. Ever." Lysander shrugged. "Seemed like the time to."
"That's a significant revenue loss," Ryland said, pausing mid-bite. "Your subscriber base was approximately—"
"Yes, thank you, I'm aware of the maths," Lysander cut him off. "Turns out you can't put a price on not hating yourself."
Colin reached over and squeezed Lysander's shoulder. Once. Lysander's whole body loosened, something unknotting behind his ribs.
Buzz. Buzzzzzzzz. BUZZZZZZZZZZ.
"Right, that's it." Stephen grabbed for the phone. "I'm launching it into the Thames."
"I could block the number," Ryland offered, already extending his hand. "Simple process. Prevents further contact whilst maintaining evidence trails for legal purposes."
Lysander hesitated, then grinned. "Just don't go scrolling through my photo gallery, yeah? Unless you want an eyeful."
"Full of intimate photographs?" Ryland's tone didn't shift. "I assumed as much, given your former profession."
"Not just intimate. We're talking full spread, nothing left to the imagination, possibly some creative angles that—"
"I've seen Stephen naked," Ryland interrupted. "You're genetically identical. The physiological variations would be minimal. Perhaps some minor differences in muscle tone or grooming preferences, but nothing that would cause significant surprise."
Colin choked on his tea, spraying it across the table.
"Ryland! I'm scandalised," Stephen announced, pressing a hand to his chest. "Absolutely scandalised. How dare you imply my arse isn't unique and special?"
"Your arse is perfectly adequate," Ryland assured him. "I simply meant that from a purely anatomical standpoint—"
"Stop talking," Lysander laughed, his first real laugh in days. "Please. I'm begging you. Take my mobile and stop talking about comparative arse analysis."
Ryland accepted the mobile, his fingers already navigating to the appropriate settings. The constant buzzing finally, mercifully ceased.
"Thank fuck," Stephen muttered, then caught his father's look. "Sorry. Thank goodness."
"Better," Colin agreed, though his lips twitched. "Eat your chicken before it goes cold. Or colder. Not sure it was ever properly hot."
They settled into comfortable domesticity. Lysander abandoned his mobile to properly attack his food. Ryland organised the chips by size. Colin produced tea from somewhere, the mysterious parental ability to generate hot beverages from thin air intact.
"Dane's blocked," Ryland announced eventually. "I've also adjusted your privacy settings to prevent contact from unknown numbers. Should reduce harassment by approximately eighty percent."
"My hero," Lysander said, only half-joking. "What would we do without your statistical interventions?"
"Probably make emotional decisions based on emotion alone," Ryland replied seriously. "Far more inefficient."
"Pass the chips," Colin said, and Stephen did, and life went on, aggressively ordinary, and utterly perfect.