‘Kieran.’ Rory's voice carried a warning. But it was tired.
‘What? I'm not bothered.’ He addressed this to Neil, whose mortification was radiating in waves visible from space. ‘Relax. I've known Rory was gay since I was about nine. This isn't news.’
Neil couldn't speak. His hands closed.
Kieran opened a cupboard by the door, rummaged, extracted a textbook, Modern Britain, dog-eared, and tucked it under his arm. Turned back.
‘Carry on with your…’ He gestured at the fallen book, the wine, the sofa. ‘Art appreciation.’ The wink he gave Rory was a masterpiece of teenage condescension. ‘Try not to be too loud. The walls are thin and Mrs Garrett downstairs has opinions.’
He walked to the front door. Opened it. Paused.
‘Oh, and Mr Ashworth?’ Neil looked up. Kieran's expression shifted. Still dry, still amused, but with something underneath that was almost kind. ‘He's a better person when you're around. So. Cheers for that.’
And that was that.
The door closed. Footsteps descended. A tuneless whistle, retreating. The building's front door banged shut.
The rain against the window. The wine breathing on the coffee table. The Schiele book on the floor, fallen open to a nude that stared at the ceiling with the same exposure Neil was feeling in every cell.
He couldn't look at Rory. His arms were wrapped around himself. He held what nobody else could. The heat in his face had subsided to a dull burn.
Rory stayed still. He sat on his end of the sofa and waited. Patient.
A minute. Two. The radiator clicked. The rain continued.
‘Right.’ Neil's voice, when it came, was flat and quiet. ‘Your brother knows.’
‘Yeah.’
‘And apparently he thinks you've been moping.’
Rory didn't deny it.
‘This changes things, Rory.’
It already had.
‘Does it.’
‘Someone knows. About us. About...’ The gesture encompassed the sofa, the wine, and three months of Fridays. The fact that he was here on a Saturday afternoon being held. ‘If he tells...’
‘He won't.’
‘How can you be sure?’
‘Because he's my brother. Because I raised him. Because he's the least bothered person in the building.’ Rory shifted forward. Leaning into the conversation without closing the gap. ‘And because this, you and me, isn't something I'm ashamed of. And he knows that.’
‘I'm not asking for a label,’ Rory said. Quieter. ‘I'm not asking you to tell anyone. I'm just... stop pretending this is nothing. You know it isn't. That's all. Because the pretending is killing you.’
‘I'm terrified,’ Neil said. Flat. Direct. ‘That if anyone finds out, parents, colleagues, it'll touch Freddie. That he'll pay the price.’
And he meant it.
‘I know.’
‘You can't know. You don't have a...’ He stopped. Looked at Rory. ‘You raised Kieran. You do know.’
‘Yeah. I know what it's like to build your whole life around keeping someone safe. And I know what it costs when the thing you're protecting them from is yourself.’
