denisa

his number hasn’t changed, he knows now simon fucking knows that. twelve months, twelve whole months and just- nothing. not so much as a text. a letter. a fucking postcard from wherever he’s disappeared to with this other guy he’s apparently shacked up with- and what the fuck is that? simon’s never dated anyone, he doesn’t think he’s even shagged anyone before and now this place that was supposed to make him better also made him gay? simon isn’t gay. simon isn’t anything, he doesn’t care about people, they’re nothing but caretakers for him, people with no lives of their own outside of waiting on him hand and fucking foot bc he doesn’t want to get out of bed what the fuck do they mean “long term relationship with another inpatient”?

tommy stands three steps behind himself and watches himself hang up the phone. he watches himself pick up the keys he was searching for when his phone rang and tuck them in his pocket, stopping by the couch to drop a habitual kiss on beth’s cheek and watches her turn away from it. she hasn’t forgiven him for yelling at joseph. she will. or he will buy her something to apologise. whichever comes first. he watches himself get in the car for his massage appointment and the only thought in his empty fucking head is, “simon didn’t tell me.”

his masseur mentions the stiffness in his body, asking him if it’s a recent problem, and tommy mumbles some excuse, some, “always had it in one shape or another” bullshit. absently mentions wanting to get into fitness, reaching middle age, you know how it is. wants to get in early. she nods like she’s heard it a thousand times from a thousand other salarymen and mentions looking into a gym, there are a few around the place and the membership helps with accountability

“never want to waste money after all,” she chuckles like it’s only a concept. like she’s never watched her older brother throw away a few quid for no reason just to go back to a home with moldy carpet and moth-eaten sheets. the tension she just spent spent an hour working out creeps back between his neck and tommy nods with another mumbled, “sounds good”

he doesn’t want to go home. not yet, not when he’s this angry. beth’s already mad at him, he doesn’t want to make it worse by blowing up over something stupid, so he pays an extra few hours for parking and walks

“long term relationship with another inpatient,” they said. “their conditions complemented each other even though they clashed in the beginning. well, john clashed with gh- simon, but he clashed with everyone so it was to be expected.”

the welfare check tommy agonised over. the years of silence. the nights he spent wondering where his brother ended up, if they would be able to fix him. if he was already dead and they never had any way to tell him. never knew there was someone to tell

and instead, simon’s been fixed the whole time and living it up with some abusive psycho and he didn’t give a shit about telling the brother who gave him that

a muscle in tommy’s neck twitches and he realises how tightly clenched his jaw is. he forces it to relax, takes a deep breath like all his therapy apps tell him to do, and looks around where he’s ended up. and spots a battered gym tucked between two bigger buildings, the roof sagging like a wet cardboard box. the muscle in his neck twitches again and he’s going for it before he even realises he’s made the choice

the door creaks so loud he almost thinks it’s deliberate, all but screaming into the quiet space. he thought these places were supposed to have music. tvs in the corners showing off steroid-jacked trainers and supermodels. instead, it’s quiet; just a handful of people scattered around the equipment, one squatting a barbell racked with more weight than he can count, his spotter hovering his hands over his waist to draw him lower

tommy’s wondering if maybe this is a private gym when he realises the guy squatting isn’t a black man but covered head to toe in black compression gear- down to a black weight belt and balaclava tucked into his top

“freak,” he mutters and tears his eyes away as a man walks over to him- though calling it walking feels too innocuous for the intense way he cuts across the floor

“lookin’ to join?” he grunts, brusque and to the point

not much of a salesman, he scoffs but plasters on a polite smile. “maybe. thinking about giving it a trial run first, see if i can get this dad bod off.”

he laughs the same way he does at work, amicable and inviting, the same water cooler dribble he’s been parroting for over a decade to men who equally don’t care, but the man doesn’t even twitch; his mouth still drawn in a stern frown like it’s his default. he grunts and jerks his head over his shoulder, turning around like he doesn’t care if tommy follows. he jogs to catch up and he tells him the gym’s rates, that they are entirely self-run and don’t offer trainers or classes and the equipment they have is all the equipment they’ve got and not to expect anything new

tommy nods along, already planning to leave the second this asshole’s back is turned, when he hears it

“don’t be a pussy and lower those hips,” the spotter from before barks and he looks over to see the freak adjust his hands on the bar, bracing his legs against the hands urging him down

but it’s the second voice…

“glass ‘ouses, johnny; bitch when your plank isn’t a mile off the ground,” he throws back, winded but not enough to reflect the weight bearing down on his shoulders, not enough to hide the gravel of twenty years smoking and eating like shit, deceptively soft when he knows how loud it can get and-

“simon?”

tommy only has eyes for the man as he freezes, missing the way the spotter tenses up as well, the way the gym owner has gone deadly still at his back. he ignores them all for the man- for simon as he stands rigid, deep in his squat, the weights still held on his shoulders-

just for them to hit the floor with a loud bang as simon throws them off and heads for the door, leaving them all- leaving him behind again-

“simon!” tommy barks, starting after him- and jerks to a stop as the owner fists the back of his collar, holding him in place. “what the fuck?”

“not another a step,” he orders and all the gruffness is gone from his voice; in his place is a chilling softness that makes him break out into a cold sweat

“what are you doing- that’s my brother,” he sputters regardless, puffing himself up though he doesn’t hold a hope against the strength in even just the grip of the man

“exactly,” he says lowly. “and he doesn’t want to talk to you.”

“ghost?” the spotter calls after him, standing lost without simon- and the fuck, calling him ghost like some primary school nickname-

wait

johnny

‘well, john clashed with gh- simon, but he clashed with everyone’

john. ghost

“oi!” tommy spits, somehow pulling out of the owner’s hold, and marches towards. “you the psycho prick who turned my brother into a poof?!”

that almost childlike look of loss vanishes and tommy’s march falters as john straightens up, his thick, bull-like shoulders pulling back as his face twists into an enraged sneer. “what the fuck did you just say to me?”

but tommy’s too pissed to pull out of this now, not when he just saw simon’s back walking a-fucking-way from him again- “you ‘eard me! didn’t realise nut ‘ouses were doublin’ as gay bars these days!”

“you fuckin’ cunt-” john growls, his entire body tilting forward, and he braces himself for whatever this asshole’s about to throw at him and give it back fuckin’ tenfold for taking his brother from him like it’s nothing-

“tommy!”

-just to freeze, his breath caught in his lungs, bc simon’s come back, his shadow breaking over them both, and he starts to smile, starts to fucking grin bc simon’s never lost a fight, even when he’s spent weeks in bed he was still there whenever those pricks back in school got on tommy for having a ragged backpack and simon’s old clothes, he never let them touch him, never let them hurt him-

just for it to fracture when simon breezes past him to brace a hand on john’s chest, his thumb instantly starting up a back and forth, his other arm curling around his ribs like he’s comforting him-

“tommy, you need to walk away,” simon orders, his eyes never leaving john’s face, never turning back to check on him, never looking at him at all

“wha… simon…” tommy croaks

“now, ‘fore you make this shit even uglier.”

tommy stands three steps behind himself and watches simon choose someone else over him. he stands three steps behind himself and watches him comfort him in a way tommy barely remembers