Chapter 39
Stephen woke to the sound of curtains being drawn back, the light hitting him directly in the face.
"Morning to you too," he mumbled into his pillow, recognising the precise movements even through his sleep fog.
"There are three individuals with professional-grade cameras outside your building," Ryland announced without turning from the window.
Stephen shot upright. Lysander stirred beside him, burying his face deeper into the duvet.
"There's paps outside? Now?"
"Have been since approximately 6:47 AM." Ryland finally turned from the window.
His hair defied several laws of physics, his shirt was buttoned wrong, and he'd clearly been awake long enough to conduct a full tactical assessment of their siege situation.
"I've documented their positions and movement patterns. Would you like to see the diagram?"
"Of course you made a diagram," Stephen said, but fondness bled through the exasperation.
Anger followed close behind. How dare they? How fucking dare they camp outside his father's flat like they had any right to their Saturday morning?
"I could order in breakfast," Ryland offered.
"No." Stephen swung his legs out of bed, Lysander groaning as the movement disturbed his sprawl. "I'm not hiding. We're not hiding."
"Morning, loves." Colin appeared in the doorway, fully dressed and carrying tea. "David, you'll want sugar in yours. Know you said you take it black, but you look like you need sweetening up."
"I've been monitoring the photographers outside since I noted them during my arrival," Ryland said, accepting the mug. "There are three of them strategically positioned to—"
"Need to go to B&Q," Colin interrupted calmly. "Bathroom sink's leaking again. You know anything about plumbing, David?"
Ryland blinked. "I... yes? The basic principles of fluid dynamics apply to domestic water systems, but the photographers—"
"Can't stop us buying washers, can they?" Colin sipped his tea.
Lysander finally achieved consciousness, sitting up with his hair doing things that defied both gravity and good taste. "What's happening? Why are we talking about washers?"
"Paps outside," Stephen summarised. "Dad needs plumbing supplies. Ryland's made tactical diagrams."
"Obviously he has." Lysander scrubbed at his face, then straightened. "Right. Can't hide forever. Might as well give them something boring to photograph."
Ryland looked between them. "That's your counter-strategy against media intrusion? Hardware shopping?"
"Nothing more British than arguing about plumbing supplies on a Saturday morning," Colin said serenely. "Very disappointing for them. No drama in toilet seats."
"I need a shower," Lysander announced. "And clothes that don't look like I slept in them."
"Borrow whatever fits," Stephen offered.
An hour later, they assembled by the front door.
Lysander had managed to make Stephen's Marks & Spencer jumper look intentionally vintage rather than what it was: ancient.
Ryland had fixed his shirt buttons but given up on his hair.
Colin carried a shopping list with the focus of a shot-caller in a military operation.
"Ready?" Stephen asked, hand on the door handle.
"I should go first," Ryland said immediately. "Create a physical barrier between you and—"
"We all go together," Colin corrected gently. "Like a normal family on a normal Saturday."
The door opened to an immediate burst of camera clicks. Stephen forced himself not to flinch, not to react, just to walk. Ryland fell into step beside him, positioning himself between the cameras and the rest of them without making it obvious. Casual proximity doing the work of a shield.
"Stephen! Any comment on your brother's livestream?"
"Lysander! Are you moving back home?"
"Is this your boyfriend, Stephen?"
They kept walking. Colin led the way. Lysander stuck close to Stephen's other side, chin up, hands trembling slightly.
The car journey passed in tense silence.
Ryland navigated Saturday morning traffic with his usual precision.
Stephen caught glimpses of the photographers following in two separate cars, maintaining what they probably thought was discreet distance.
Lysander fidgeted with the window controls until Colin told him to "leave it alone before you break it. "
B&Q loomed, all orange and industrial optimism. The automatic doors whooshed open to reveal an acre of home improvement possibilities.
"Christ," Lysander muttered, taking in the warehouse aesthetic. "It's like someone decided to make shopping as ugly as possible."
"Function over form," Colin said, already heading for the plumbing aisle. "Don't need pretty when you just need your sink to stop pissing water everywhere."
The photographers had given up at the entrance, presumably warned off by security or knowing store policy. Stephen caught glimpses of them through the windows, stationed in the car park. Which meant, for now at least, they could argue about sealant in peace.
"Forty-three quid for silicone that'll last two months?" Colin held up the tube like evidence in court. "Highway bloody robbery."
"What about this one?" Ryland picked up an alternative, having apparently decided to embrace the mission. "The molecular structure should provide superior adhesion."
"Let's buy this tap. It's gold," Lysander said, holding up a display model with unnecessary crystals around the base. "Who doesn't love a gold tap?"
Colin's look could have stripped paint. "We're fixing a leak, not auditioning for MTV Cribs."
"I don't know what that is, but your tone suggests disapproval."
Stephen found himself grinning despite everything. His family, refusing to be cowed by the vultures with cameras. This was better than hiding. This was living.
"I'd forgotten what normal shopping feels like," Lysander admitted quietly while Colin and Ryland debated silicone sealants with enthusiasm that should be illegal before noon. "No Instagram posts, no product placement. Just buying stuff we need."
"A novel concept," Stephen agreed, bumping his shoulder against his twin's. "You doing okay?"
"Getting there." Lysander picked up a packet of washers, turning them over in his hands. He glanced over at where Ryland and Colin were bent over the sealant display, heads together in serious discussion about viscosity ratings. "He's a good one."
"Yeah," Stephen said softly, watching Ryland gesture at a tube with the enthusiasm most people reserved for football scores. "Worth waiting for. Worth all the absolute bollocks it took to get us here."
Lysander smirked. "Look at you, all settled with your mad scientist."
"Piss off."
"I mean it." Lysander's voice dropped. "You look like yourself again. Haven't seen that in years."
Stephen swallowed hard. "Could say the same about you. Here in B&Q without a ring light in sight."
"Terrifying, isn't it?" Lysander laughed, but it wobbled at the edges. "I think I need to just be with myself for a while. Work out who the fuck I am when I'm not performing for someone. Before I even think about another alpha."
"Probably smart," Stephen agreed, then caught Lysander's expression. "Definitely smart. When did you suddenly gain forty extra IQ points?"
"Sometime between leaving Knightsbridge and discovering B&Q sells blinged out taps." Lysander set the washers down. "Actually knowing yourself before letting someone else define you. Mad concept."
"Revolutionary," Stephen deadpanned.
They ended up in the garden centre cafe because Colin insisted you couldn't make important hardware decisions on an empty stomach. The queue snaked behind a coach party of pensioners arguing about Wellington boots.
"Look at it," Lysander whispered, gesturing at the hot food counter. "It's all beige."
"That's British cuisine for you," Stephen said. "Fifty shades of brown."
"Don't be dramatic," Colin said, already eyeing the scones. "They've got sausage rolls. What more do you want?"
"Flavour?" Lysander suggested. "Nutritional value? The will to live?"
"I'll have tea," Colin told the server, ignoring his son entirely. "Strong enough to stand a spoon in."
Ryland ordered with an exactness that confirmed he'd calculated caloric requirements beforehand. Stephen went for coffee and a cheese toastie that looked brutalised by the sandwich press. Lysander, after much deliberation, admitted defeat and ordered scones.
"This is actually decent," he admitted five minutes later, cream and jam threatening to drip onto his borrowed jumper.
"See?" Colin said smugly. "Not everything needs to be fancy."
"The ratio of cream to jam is scientifically optimal," Ryland added, having apparently analysed his scone before consumption. "Though the structural integrity could be improved."
A photographer sidled closer, trying to get an angle that made their garden centre breakfast look newsworthy. Stephen watched him fail. Hard to spin scandal from four people eating adequate food and discussing mineral content in tea.
"We need more teaspoons at home," Colin announced, apropos of nothing.
"No, we don't," Stephen said automatically. "We've got loads."
"Half don't match."
"So? They still function as spoons."
"I could buy some," Lysander offered. "There's this designer who does titanium ones that—"
"The ones from Poundland work just fine," Colin cut him off.
"I could create a durability study," Ryland offered. "Test various metals under standard usage conditions."
Stephen looked around their little table. His boyfriend offering to conduct cutlery science. His twin trying to introduce designer goods to their household. His father defending the honour of discount spoons. The photographers outside recording every moment of their aggressively mundane Saturday.
He glanced at Lysander, cream on his nose, more relaxed than Stephen had seen him in years. At Ryland, drawing diagrams on his napkin about optimal spoon structure. At Colin, presiding over it all, his family together and functional despite everything trying to tear them apart.
Perfect. It was absolutely perfect.