#kenstew

He doesn’t know if he has a voice anymore. Maybe his vocal cords are fried, maybe they desiccated. What’s he got to talk about now anyway?

“Can I let them in?”

He must groan, or grunt, or ‘mmhmm’ because in the next blink, one of his blinds is cracking open and he feels his brother’s presence, so familiar it almost makes him want to cry.

“Kendall,” Roman says, looking around the room for a place to sit but appearing genuinely frightened by every available surface. “Pleasure as always.”

Roman walks in like he owns the place, like he might be welcome. He eventually perches on the end of the couch, but not enough to really be comfy. Kendall can see he’s holding his weight funny, not sitting naturally. He’s just a temporary fixture within his wasteland and if he’s not going to clean it up, he might as well bunker down.

“Rava called,” Roman explains, a little softer this time. “I know news might not make it all the way up to your lofty heights, but it looks like Jimenez is going to win. She’s coming back to the city.”

It’s a statement he doesn’t want an answer to, and he waits for no answer, but he’s tapping on his phone and a few minutes later puts it down with a sigh.

“I’m not leaving until you talk to me.”

“She shouldn’t be talking to you,” Kendall eventually forces out. “I don’t want her talking to you.”

Roman, for a moment, if Kendall was paying real attention, flashes a glimpse of hurt across his face. There’s an apology hanging in his eyes, an attempt in his throat, but it never makes it out. “Oh, a feeling!”

“Fuck off, Roman,” Kendall mumbles. “Why are you even here?”

“You’re not answering your phone, fuckface, so I’m just passing on the message,” Roman huffs, standing to parade in front of the floor-to-ceiling windows before he adds: “And making sure you didn’t kill yourself this time. Does this building have a pool?”

“My phone died,” Kendall explains, ignoring the chill down his spine at Roman’s suggestion. Not because it’s not true, but because it was consuming every hour of his day. He was in fight mode, constantly battling the darkness threatening to cloud his brain, vision, judgement.

“Cool,” Roman laughs. “Yeah, in 2023 we don’t have fucking phone chargers or anything. Absolutely no way to get that baby up and running again.”

“Fuck. Off. Roman.”

“For some unknown reason your kids want to see you,” Roman says, quieter this time. Less mocking, but it’s still there. A challenge, waiting to be met. He wants Kendall to say something. He wants to be called out. Kendall is too tired to resist.

“Not my kids, right?” he eventually gives him, eyes watering ever so slightly. “Not my problem.”

“Ken-” Roman starts, drowning in relief.

“You’re fucking despicable, coming here pretending to care,” Kendall laughs a little. “You just wanted to see the spectacle. Have a day at the zoo.”

Roman says nothing, but he looks more comfortable. This is a space he can navigate, and Kendall can’t stop pushing the buttons.

Kendall smiles. “Look at you, fucking lapping it up. I can’t forgive you, for saying that shit. For letting her do it. Does that make you feel better?”

Roman frowns but quickly shakes it out. Kendall really looks at him now, notices his face has healed. You’d never know anything happened to him at all. Same old Roman.

“Yeah, I feel fucking fantastic,” Roman sighs. “Just call your kids, Ken. And call Stewy. If I have to hear him ask after you one more time, I think I might be sick.”

Kendall nods. “Maybe I won’t call him then.”

“Sure, whatever turns you on, you sick bastard,” Roman raises an eyebrow. “Is this foreplay? Are you both using me for foreplay?”

“Maybe.”

“Disgusting.”

“You’d know.”