Archive of Our Own

Chants of his name start trickling in from the back of the auditorium, riding across the audience like a wave. They're manufactured as all get-out, Kendall knows this, but his heart starts climbing into his throat anyhow, and he has to blink hard to clear his vision. Shiv raises a hand towards the ceiling, her back to Kendall from where he’s positioned off the wings, out of view from the stage. The big screens up in the rafters display her face in glorious high definition, letting him and anyone in the cheap seats see her just as clear as the one's that paid top-dollar to get in the front row; Shiv's eyes are closed, serenity painted across her face.

"I hear y'all," she says, right as she opens her eyes, staring into the camera anchored just below the stage that’s pointed her way. "There ain't nothing like it, is there? Divinity found in forgiveness." She makes a noise low in her throat, clenching her hand into a fist that she pumps in front of her a few times. "Kendall, baby, come on out here."

He steps onto the stage, waving, smiling wider than he feels like doing, knowing that anything less won't look right when rebroadcast up on the screens and into the homes of their parishioners outside the region. Shiv's got her hand outstretched, and she presses it lightly to his back once he's in grappling distance. Somewhere along the line she learned how to do the matronly smile their mama always wore and she's got it on in full force now, chin quivering even as the corners of her lips pull up. She lowers her microphone and leans toward him, just for a second. Kendall watches it on the screen overhead, the gentle look on her face as she whispers something just for him to hear. "Cut that smiling shit right out, Jesus Christ."

Kendall forgets that he likely should let his expression change gradually, smile dropping off his face right-quick. Her hand rubs circles on his back, and she returns the microphone to her mouth now that the applause has died down. "I cannot think of a soul on this green Earth that's been through more than my brother here," ripples of amen come from those closest to the stage, the video feed on the big screens changing to audience reactions: hands going up, members of the audience nodding. "Yet here he stands, happy and whole in the light of God."

Whistles and applause break out anew. Shiv takes Kendall's hand as she waits for the noise to die down, staring into his eyes with tears glittering in her own. It's something that Kendall's always envied, her ability to cry on command like some Hollywood movie star.

Complete, utter emotional devastation is just about the only way Kendall can manage it. Well, that, and the times when he's being well and truly fucked, but Kendall tries not to think on that too much these days. All other inclinations towards crying have pretty much been nurtured out of him by their daddy years ago.

"All of us are sinners in the eyes of the lord." Shiv earns herself another smattering of amens. "But few of us go through the trials that lead those of our brothers and sisters to be born again in the eyes of Christ. Let's end today's service in praying for all the wayward souls that found love in Christ's arms, and for those who still need our assistance to find the light that’ll see them returned to Christ's love."

Kendall squeezes his eyes shut and tilts his head to the floor. Logan had put him through a week of therapy not long after the bomb dropped; just about the only thing Kendall got out of it was that he’s apparently prone to disassociation in stressful situations. It explained why drugs and he had gotten along like a pig with mud.

There'd been a moment there where he'd thought his daddy genuinely cared, but whereas Christ's plan remains a mystery to them all, Logan Roy operated on a much more blunt playing field.

It's been said that his daddy kept to the Old Testament more than New. Kendall wasn't ever going to be the one to refute such an observation.

Putting his son in therapy served as a chance for Logan to yank him right out of it, proof to all their followers that science couldn't fix a broken soul. Logan's church didn't have much time or patience for Christ the Redeemer. Much like what God’d been like prior to sending his son to clean up shop, Kendall’s daddy knew what it took to craft a narrative that’d keep his flock in line, doing as he told. A month or so after that had been a live stream of Kendall's second baptism, born anew in the eyes of their lord.

Kendall’s fall and subsequent return to grace had made the Church a grip, the significance underscored by it being the first time that Logan had made any sort of appearance on-camera in over a decade.

All that Kendall had really gotten for his trouble was the knowledge that his mind apparently had ways of detaching itself from whatever suffering was set in front of him, no artificial substances needed.

Shiv drops his hand the minute they're off stage, hoots and hollers from the crowd echoing behind. Kendall wipes at his mouth, blinking hard at the change in lighting and hoping that he doesn’t look as shaken as he feels. "What the heck, Shiv?"

"What?" She holds out her hand, palm up and grabbing at the air. Jess hurries over, passing over Shiv's phone before rushing after one of the cameramen, not once meeting Kendall's eye. Used to be that Jess was his PA and not Shiv's. But — well. "If I don't say it, somebody else will. It's called getting in front of the fucking story, Ken; you might wanna try it one of these days."

Roman comes down the opposite end of the hallway, already having shed the suit Logan insists he wears while holding youth service on the other side of the complex. With Shiv still in her service heels, Roman has to tilt his head up to speak to both of them. "Twitter's saying that Kendall's had a worse life than sex slave kids," he holds his phone up in front of him for them to see, scrolling with his thumb. "So, just know whatever you said out there went over fucking great. Well done, Shiv, you Girl Boss bitch."

"Fuck." Shiv taps open the app on her own phone, going straight to her mentions. "Daddy had Gerri give me a revised script right before I went out there. I knew it was fucking stupid, but what the fuck am I supposed to do? We all saw how going off-script went for Ken. Fuck!" She tries to run a hand through her hair, but it gets tangled in all the curls and product they've got her done up with. "Jesus. Daddy didn't even bother to make a Facebook back when it was cool, I don't see why we can't market test shit before he trots me out to make an ass of my fucking self."

She looks at Kendall.

He isn't quite sure what she expects him to do.

It used to be him out there every Sunday, sure, but that won't be happening again anytime soon. There isn't much advice for him to give; Shiv manages the stress of being the face of their daddy’s legacy far better than Kendall did in his day, his current situation the proof in that particular pudding.

Kendall wishes that he was allowed something other than the little brick of a Nokia that's sitting heavy in his pants pocket, just so he could at the very least see what it is that has her so aggravated. "Ah," he says, grasping. "Shoot."

"Gotta say, brother," Roman's unimpressed tone is underscored by the way he isn't even looking at Kendall, still tapping away his phone. "I liked you a lot more when you cursed like a sailor and hosted fuck parties 25-men deep."

"Don't." Kendall's heart rate kicks into overdrive, eyes darting around at the crew milling around them, wrapping up for the afternoon. "I never — I wouldn't — don't say stuff like that."

Roman looks at him like he's absolutely lost it. "Okay," he sounds anything but. "Don't go running for your dealer; I was just fucking with you, Jesus."

"Where's my goddamn hair & makeup girl?" Shiv calls to the room at large, and three women fall over themselves to come her way. She turns back to her brothers and sighs. "I gotta fucking go and do my rounds out front, sort this shit out, I guess. You," she points to Roman, "come with me. And you," Kendall this time, "just fucking go home and don't talk to nobody on your way there, you hear me?"

Sometime between Kendall's leaving and eventually returning to his daddy's congregation, Logan signed Kendall's house over to their cousin Greg. Nobody thought to tell Kendall about this until he'd walked inside and found Greg's overly long body spread across his couch, watching the TV.

It’d been lucky for him that Greg's side of the family didn't breed the particular sort of pettiness that their daddy's did; he was kind enough to let Kendall move back in without any sort of fuss. Kendall appreciates the company, mostly, not sure how well he'd fair if it was an empty house he’d come home to after everything that’d transpired.

He parks out front and isn't surprised to see Greg camped out on the steps, waiting, anxiously staring at Kendall as he walks up to the porch. "You alright?"

Well, that can't be good. "That bad?" Kendall asks, wondering if he really wants to know.

Greg stands up, and even hunched over like he is, he still looms over Kendall as they head inside. "No. Well," Greg walks tight to Kendall's heels, like he's worried about losing sight of him. "They're coming after Shiv more than you, so I think it'll be alright?"

There was a time, back when everyone used to call Greg an egg and Kendall was in charge of youth preaching for the chuch, still in the midst of working his way up, that Greg used to climb all over Kendall in a way that would make Kendall's auntie laugh, even while Kendall's daddy and mama watched on in disapproval. Kendall thought his baby cousin was hilarious, even though back then Greg had already been shooting up tall as a weed, well before puberty had really taken hold of him.

It was rare when the family could get together, only ever seeming to happen at the times when Logan had cause to play nice with his brother, or needed to get some far-off, distant relation to get their shit in order before it impacted his business.

Strange, having Greg looking out for him these days, instead of it being the other way around; Kendall his favorite cousin, the only one who’d play with him.

"Can I see?" Kendall asks.

Greg shakes his head so fast that he starts looking dizzy. "No, nope. Uh, I don't think that would be,” he pauses, considering, "good."

There's a line of choices in Kendall’s past that pretty much point to Kendall's decision-making skills being worth less than dirt, so he figures that it's in everyone's interest to accept Greg's judgment on this one. "Alright," he says, not having it in him to fight anyhow. "Well, I'm off to bed."

Greg frowns. "Aren't you gonna eat?"

Kendall gives him a smile and says, "I'm alright."

His bedroom still has boxes in it, strewn about and half-unpacked. Things he'd brought back with him that don't suit the style of the house. It leaves Kendall feeling out of place, the two major eras of his life thus far unable to reconcile with one another. He lays in bed, staring at the ceiling and listening to the clock tick on the wall. Each second an eternity.

He’d told himself he wasn't going to do this anymore. Made a promise to himself that very morning, in fact.

One minute ticks into two, and eventually he breaks. The carpet is soft under his feet as he walks the long hallway to the master bedroom. Greg's calling out his name before Kendall even has a chance to knock on the door, asking, "You there?"

Kendall swallows. "Uh, yeah." He licks his lips. "Can I come in?"

The door swings open, Greg's body blocking out almost all the light from inside the room. "Of course!" He steps to the side, so that Kendall can enter.

"Just for a little while," Kendall says. He sits on the far corner of Greg's bed, laying on his side.

Greg joins him, eager-looking. "No, dude, like," he settles his head on his pillow, eyes huge in his face."It's your bedroom, technically. You can stay the whole night. It's no big deal."

Most nights Kendall does, but it makes the shame rise up in him to have Greg saying it out loud. "I'll leave," he says, firmer this time. "Just needed a little company for a bit."

They're summoned to the big house that next morning, supposedly for breakfast. Kendall's chair is right next to his daddy's, hands twisted in his lap beneath the tablecloth as he does his best to sit up straight.

The last dish has only just been sat down when Logan says, "We need to decide what we're doing for the summer conference."

Kendall knows better than to relax. There's no way the news of yesterday's service hasn't made it back to his daddy by now; Logan’s always been the type to enjoy playing with his prey before going in for the kill.

The iPad at Logan's elbow starts chiming, annoying ringtone filling the room. He picks it up and groans, rolling his eyes. "It's Connor," he says, before snapping his fingers at one of the staff standing by the wall. The man rushes over and picks it up, holding the screen steady as Logan drags his finger across it to answer.

"Sorry I'm late, daddy," Connor says. "I think I must have missed the invite."

Kendall stares at his plate, wondering who Connor's got giving him a heads-up. There's a non-zero chance it’d been one of his siblings, looking to take the heat off themselves or stir the pot. Members of their daddy’s staff are usually too scared to go against him, but lately the Church’s been having a lot of anonymous sources crop up in the articles written about them, claiming to be close to the family, putting them all a bit on edge even though it’s likely bullshit, all things considered. Could be that Connor’s flipped one of them to his side, that same person happy to shell out Roy family commentary to anybody else willing to pay.

"Yes," Logan says, "well," but Connor keeps talking, going on about conversations he’s been having with some people he's met in Israel.

Kendall spoons eggs onto his plate, already knowing where this is going.

Their daddy lets Connor get as far as his usual line, evangelizing about the wonders of the Holy Land, before he finally snaps. "I'm not going to have these fucking people waste their money flying to the other side of this godforsaken planet when all of it could be coming directly to me, Connor, you bumbling cunt."

The sound of Connor's jaw clicking shut carriers just fine across the tinny speakers of the tablet. The staff member holding the thing flinches, and Kendall makes the mistake of looking up at his face, their eyes catching inadvertently.

He learned a long time ago that nothing good came from acknowledging the staff, but apparently he's been gone long enough for the lesson to slip. Now he has the man's expression of awkward, secondhand embarrassment making himself feel uncomfortable for his trouble.

A knock comes through the door to the dining room, and it opens before anyone calls for them to. Greg's head pops in, nearly grazing the top of the frame. "Uh, sorry, Uncle Daddy," he makes a face as he says it. "Kendall, your phone's going off."

Logan's eyes cut Kendall’s way. "Who the fuck is calling you?"

He should’ve known that he wouldn't escape without somehow getting his daddy's attention. "I don't know, daddy."

It must sound convincing; Logan huffs and bites into a piece of bacon. "Where the fuck is that wife of yours, anyway?" Kendall sets his napkin on the table, pushing his chair back so that he can stand up. Logan always calls her that, even though they'd been estranged since long before everything went to shit. "You make sure she trots her ass out whenever we get the dates set for this shit. I don't pay all that money just for her to be quiet."

Kendall is smart enough not to point out that's exactly why she’s paid all that money. "Alright, daddy."

He reaches the door just as Roman says, "Even the Pope allows for buttfucking these days, Jesus. Lighten up, daddy." Greg yanks it shut behind them with an alarmed look on his face, cutting off whatever Logan’s said in reply.

Kendall decides to pretend that he didn't hear. "What number is it?" he asks.

"Oh, um," Greg steps away, moving into the middle of the hallway as he starts to whisper, "It wasn't actually ringing. I heard your dad getting intense in there and thought you'd like a break."

Kendall isn't exactly the hugging type, but he awkwardly reaches up to get his arms around Greg's shoulders, clinging to him. Greg bends himself in half and squeezes Kendall back a little too strongly in return. "C'mon," Kendall says, and leads them past one of his daddy's living rooms, opening up the big glass doors to the sunroom.

He sits on the floor with the wall at his back, pulling his knees to his chest. Greg lowers down next to Kendall's side, long legs extended out into the room. Kendall rubs his hands and tries to think of something neutral to say. It used to be something he was decent enough at, small talk. The short leash his daddy’s got Kendall’s life reduced to doesn’t leave many topics of conversation, especially since Greg and he are practically living in each other’s pockets at it is. "You feeling up to coming to service this week?"

Greg's hair falls into his eyes as he looks down to pick at his fingernails. "I dunno man," he says. "It's pretty intense."

Kendall used to be good at this too, once upon a time. Turning skeptics into converts. Someone once told him it was down to the intense sort of tragedy that lived in his eyes. Something about it making people want to do him a favor, like he was too used to being disappointed, and they were his last hope. "You don't have to come to church to have a connection with Jesus," Kendall says, "But it does make everything else a lot less lonely."

He watches as Greg bites his lip, like he's gearing up to say something.

Roman steps into the room, looking giddy. "Stop trying to brainwash Greg and get back in there, you fucking Jesus freak. Tom called and shit is about to hit the fucking fan! You don't wanna miss it."

He's sitting down for dinner with Greg when his phone vibrates. He picks it up and sees that it's Stewy who's texted him.

ʙᴇᴇɴ ᴛʜɪɴᴋɪɴɢ ᴀʙᴏᴜᴛ ʏᴏᴜ ʟᴀᴛᴇʟʏ.

Kendall stares at the little box that makes up the pixelated screen of his phone.

"Everything alright?"

His eyes jolt up, turning the phone to rest face down on the table. Greg is frowning at him, the very picture of worry.

"Yeah." Kendall swallows and clears his throat. "Yeah, sorry. It was someone from the church letting me know that I'm on deck for the money count tomorrow."

It's shocking how easy the lie comes. How quick.

The rest of dinner passes in a blur, an unremarkable meal that Greg ordered off Doordash since neither of them is any good at cooking, Greg still too weirded out by the idea of Kendall’s daddy’s staff coming by to cook.

Kendall drops his paper plate into the trash once he’s done, phone practically burning a hole in his pocket. Greg's still sitting at the table as Kendall makes to leave. "Uh," Greg says, "I was thinking, maybe —"

"Sorry," Kendall points to the hallway beyond the dining room, leading to the bedrooms. "I'm really beat, man. I think I'm gonna go to bed."

Greg's shoulders slump. "Oh, no, like, totally. Me too. Super beat." He gives an awkward wave, his hand bumping the table in his rush to raise it. "Goodnight."

Kendall sits with his back against the bedroom door, turning his phone over in his hands.

He shouldn't. He knows that he shouldn't.

ʜᴏᴡ's ᴡɪɴᴛᴇʀ ɪɴ ɴᴇᴡ ʏᴏʀᴋ?

Stewy's reply comes back instantly, as if he'd been waiting. ᴡᴏᴜʟᴅɴ'ᴛ ᴋɴᴏᴡ. ɪ'ᴍ ᴅᴏᴡɴ ɪɴ ʏᴏᴜʀ ᴘᴀʀᴛs.

Kendall’s heart starts beating rapidly, sweat breaking out on his upper lip. There's no way he survives this, not a second time. Especially not if his daddy finds out.

ʏᴏᴜ ғʀᴇᴇ ᴛᴏᴍᴏʀʀᴏᴡ? Stewy asks.

ᴏɴʟʏ ɪɴ ᴛʜᴇ ᴍᴏʀɴɪɴɢ.

ᴄʀᴀᴄᴋ ᴏғ ᴅᴀᴡɴ, ɪ ᴋɴᴏᴡ ʜᴏᴡ ɪᴛ ɢᴏᴇs. The next text that comes through is an address.

Kendall doesn't sleep. The hands of his clock on the wall hover near two in the morning when he notices Greg breathing outside his door, clearly dithering about coming to see if Kendall's alright. He stands there for a long moment before the quiet sound of his footsteps retreat in the direction of the master bedroom.

Greg must’ve been spending all this time waiting for Kendall, expecting him to keep up their strange, late-night ritual. Kendall isn’t exactly sure why it makes him feel guilty, but the one thing he actually is good at these days is carrying on despite all the guilt he can’t source.

He gets up quietly once the sun’s started to rise, careful not to make noise that'll wake Greg when he slips out the front door, starting up his car. He types the address Stewy sent into the car’s navigation and thinks about praying for strength on the drive over, eventually deciding that nothing good ever came from mixing religion with Stewy, and it's way past time for him to break that particular habit of his.

The week-long therapist might be proud of him for coming up with that one.

The cafe is chic. Kendall never would have believed a place like this could exist in his hometown back when he’d been a kid, but with the gentrification of the area, all the money and affluence his daddy's church’s been bringing to the area over the years, there seems to be more and more of its ilk cropping up. Stewy's in a suit, sitting at a table by the window and looking exactly like he belongs, no other soul inside the shop beside the girl working the register.

Kendall feels ridiculous in his hoodie and sweats, a baseball cap pulled so low that the brim is practically touching the frame of his shades.

For all the good it does him, really, since Stewy spots that it’s him right away, standing and reaching out to give Kendall a hug. There's already a cup on the table, half-eaten pastry on a plate next to it. Kendall focuses on them rather than the feel of Stewy's arms around him. "Woah, dude," Stewy says, "Didn't realize Ted Kaczynski started giving fashion tips."

"Ha." Kendall sits down in the other chair. His hand comes up to take off the cap, awkwardly dropping it to rest in his lap.

Stewy shows both of his palms to Kendall, making a serious face. "Seriously," he whistles, "Hypebeast." He refolds his napkin into his lap, raising a finger to the girl behind the counter, getting her attention before he points to his cup, and then to Kendall. "Hope you don't mind that I got started without you. Dragging my ass out of bed was fucking hell." He grins at Kendall, all teeth, and Kendall doesn't let himself read into it. "How are you doing?"

At least that's an easy one to answer. "Fine," he says. "You?"

"Really?" The waitress drops off a pastry for Kendall, settling a cup of coffee at his elbow before walking back to the counter. Stewy's eyes don't stray from him for a second. "Doesn't seem that way to me." He walks his fingers through the air, reaching across the table to poke Kendall in his chest. "I saw they’ve got Shiv trotting you out lately; how's that going?"

Coming may have been a mistake. Kendall takes a drink just to do something with his hands, buying himself time. He licks his lips after he's finished, rolling them into his mouth. "It's nice to be given responsibility again," he says. "To be able to serve."

"I gotta tell you, Ken, you being a true believer?" Stewy waves a hand through the air before pressing it to his chest. "One of your best attributes," he frowns when Kendall huffs out a humorless laugh, shaking his head. "Seriously is. Too bad it's wasted on your family of snakes."

There's an impulse to defend them, but Kendall doesn't actually know what he’d even be able to say. All the awful things his family had done to him, the full and torrid Roy family story — Kendall told it all to Stewy himself, once upon a time. There's no taking that back. "This is you wanting me to come back with you."

Stewy rolls his eyes. "Don't sound so excited." He tears what's left of his croissant in half and pops it into his mouth, leaning across the small table. Beneath it, Stewy’s knee knocks into Kendall’s, their legs tangling together, and his gaze turns sharp. "Who's that tall fuck living with you, anyway?"

Kendall blinks. There'd been some stories, right when he'd moved into town, but the media had gotten pretty bored after a couple of weeks of the same answer. "What?" He hadn't realized Stewy was keeping those sort of tabs on him. "That's - he's my cousin."

Stewy's eyebrows rise as he laughs, still chewing. "Ah, well, at least it isn't a live-in personal trainer, I guess." He makes aggressive air-quotes, and then reaches down to finish what was left of his coffee. "So what the fuck are you doing, Kendall? Like, what’s the plan here?"

He can't look at Stewy. Instead he traces a finger around the rim of his cup, some cheap thing sourced from Ikea in bulk. "What’s my plan?" he parrots. His eyes flick up, catching Stewy's eye just for a moment. "Oh I dunno, Stewy. Rebound as best I can from how you ruined my life, I guess."

"Fuck you." Stewy’s venomous, eyes shining. "Everything was going great until you let your fucking daddy get back into your head." He knocks his knuckles on the table before laying his palm down flat on it. "People survive shit like this, Ken. Aren't you fucking alive right now? Hey. Hey."

Kendall lifts his chin and holds Stewy's gaze.

"I really have been thinking about you, you know," Stewy says. "How fucking easy it’d been to know we were doing the right thing, back when it was just the two of us." He stands up and lifts his chair to the right, trapping Kendall between himself and the window. "We were good, Ken. You were good.” He drops his voice, whispering his next words, "Your faith? The face you made, when I was inside you? You chanting my name like it's a goddamn prayer? That's religion, Ken, not the nonsense Logan's got your sister spouting."

Kendall's rock hard in his pants, his breathing gone shallow. He shouldn't have come. He knew this was going to happen.

It's why he'd been courting the speed limit the entire drive over, unable to get to Stewy fast enough.

"Stop." It sounds weak even to his own ears.

Stewy's hand settles on his thigh, a firm pressure. "Doesn't it piss you off? Their grifting?" he licks his lips, eyes intent on Kendall’s face. "It's a fucking sin. A literal," he stresses, "fucking sin, Kendall."

The urge to defend his family raises again, even though he knows better than anyone that Stewy’s right. "Don't," he begs, voice rough. Stewy stares at his face for a long moment before scoffing.

He picks up Kendall's cup and drains it, smacking his lips, before he bites a piece off the muffin on Kendall's plate. "How's this," he says. "Let’s just make this about me missing the look of divinity on your face as I make you come, huh?" The hand he's still got on Kendall's thigh squeezes. "Why don't you come back to my hotel room, and we can have a good old-fashioned debate about it like the good ol’ days, what do you say to that?"

"I can't." It's more than he thought he'd be able to say, his body aching with the desire to just fold. His head is pointed towards the table, practically touching his chest.

Stewy's face ducks down into his view. His finger catches beneath Kendall’s chin, forcing his face up. "This is ridiculous, Ken. This is gonna be your whole life now? Cashing daddy's checks while your brother and sister do all the heavy lifting? What the fuck happened to your calling, huh, Kendall?"

His phone rings from inside the pocket of his hoodie. Kendall scrambles to fish it out, terrified it might be his daddy. Greg's pixelated name crosses the screen, like the Archangel Michael set forth by God himself to save Daniel from a Persian king of old. "I've got to go." He manages to get a smile onto his face, there and gone again within a second.

"Kendall —"

He stands up, awkwardly escaping past Stewy's chair. "Have a good rest of your day," he says, and then, because he means it, "God bless you."

It's dark by the time Kendall returns home. Meeting with Stewy hadn't been a good idea, and he'd driven out to the woods to collect himself afterward.

Eight hours later, he'd only just started to feel steady enough to turn the ignition over and bring himself home.

Greg's pacing in the entryway when he opens the door, hair going a million different directions from where he must’ve been running his hands through it non-stop. He looks young, boxer shorts showing off the long line of his legs. His t-shirt has a cartoon character on it, and he's staring at Kendall like he thought he'd never see him again. "Are you okay?" Greg asks, frantic. "Where have you been? I called, like, five thousand times."

Kendall had turned off his phone the minute he'd made it back to his car in the parking lot, not trusting himself to resist if Stewy extended his invitation a second time. "Out. I'm—"

Greg cuts him off. "You didn't, like," he seems to lose whatever it was he was going to say, taking Kendall by the shoulders and feeling him through the fabric of his hoody instead. "Do I need to take you to the clinic?"

And that's — Kendall hates that Greg's said it.

"I can't have one fucking day to myself?" he snaps. He shoves Greg away from him, starting to breathe hard. "I'm gone for a couple of hours and you think I've fucking done myself in!?"

It's quiet enough that a pin dropping might sound like a gun firing off. Greg looks terrified, trembling like a leaf, standing in his socks on the hallway rug.

Kendall takes a deep breath. "Sorry, I shouldn't —" He shakes his head. "I didn't mean to curse at you. I'm sorry, Greg." He walks into the living room and sits down hard on the couch, burying his face in his hands. "It's a perfectly reasonable thing to ask, given my — anyway. I'm sorry for worrying you."

The cushion tilts when Greg joins him, sitting too close, their knees touching. Kendall drags his fingers down his face and stares at Greg's knee.

"Do you wanna smoke up?"

It makes him want to laugh. Kendall shouldn't. He’d last done it a couple of months ago, back when he still couldn't believe what was fucking happening to him, under his daddy's thumb yet again, all of it his own fucking fault.

Now he tries not to have anything harder than water, its own form of penance.

His silence seems to be answer enough for Greg. "Um, do you mind if I?" His hands make awkward shapes down by their legs. "I was, like, so fucking worried, man. But I wanted to stay sharp in case you needed me to like, uh, take you any place, or pick you up. Or whatever."

Kendall pitches back, resting against the couch and staring at the ceiling. "Go ahead." He watches as Greg reaches beneath the living room table and pulls out a box Kendall hadn't even noticed was there, taking out a joint and lighting up.

They're both quiet for a little bit. Kendall feels like he's floating, the smoke making the room warm and sort of distant.

"There are pictures of you meeting with that Hosseini guy," Greg says, sounding miserable. "I wasn't gonna say anything, but your dad sent Roman over here to get you like five hours ago and I had to tell him you weren't here, which I’m sure pissed him off. I know its gonna be a thing and I didn’t want it to blindside you when it eventually blew up, though, so. Yeah."

Kendall closes his eyes. Stewy had sat them right next to the floor-to-ceiling windows. It’s a toss up of if it’d been Stwey who called the press to force Kendall's hand, or if whoever Logan’s paid to follow him around had gotten greedy.

There's always a chance that they'd both had a hand in it, but Kendall doesn’t need more reasons to want to die right now, and something like that being true would definitely be the thing to push him over the edge.

Kendall reopens his eyes, exhaling. "Daddy's gonna be mad." He rolls his head over to stare at Greg, who looks terrified, joint hanging out of his mouth. "I didn't sleep with him." Kendall rubs a hand through his hair, shaking his head. "I wanted to, but I guess you and everybody knows that much. I doubt that Daddy will believe I didn't, though."

"I believe you!" Greg's very good at looking earnest. He takes another hit and then holds the joint between them. "You sure?" he offers again, wiggling his fingers. Kendall shouldn't. Greg seems to sense his hesitation, saying, "You look really keyed up, dude."

Kendall wonders how much temptation God is expecting him to resist today.

He shakes his head again. “I think somebody’s spying on me.”

Greg sits up straight, gawping at him. “What? You — what? That’s crazy. Like, so crazy. Dude. What?!”

Kendall winces. “I don’t know for sure, I guess. It just feels like it. All these articles and stuff, it’s the only thing that makes sense, right? But maybe I’m just being paranoid and it’s all in my head. It isn’t like I don’t do this to myself, right? Putting myself in situations where people don’t even need to spy to knows my business.”

Greg looks torn before an idea visibly seems to come to him. "What if I just," he says, taking another hit, "and then —"

He moves closer, and instantly Kendall knows what he's offering. Kendall hesitates, just for a second, before giving in, parting his lips. He inhales when Greg blows into his mouth, letting his eyelids droop as he savors the sensation of smoke in his lungs, lips gentle on his.

It's been a while.

Kendall watches Greg open his eyes from where they’d fallen closed, Greg's tongue darting out to lick his lips. "How was that?"

It makes him laugh. Kendall shakes his head and exhales the smoke back out through his nose. "Fine. Nice?" he says, not really knowing what he's meant to say. "Thank you."

"Great." Greg nods to himself a few times before taking another hit. Kendall settles back into the couch again, stretching out his arms.

"I'm not really sure that I, like, believe in God, or whatever."

Kendall waits to see if Greg has anything to add to that. When the silence starts to drag, he figures that it's fine for him to speak. "Lots of people have a crisis of faith," he says, gently. Today has been really fucking odd. It's like God's spun a wheel to pick the challenges he wants Kendall to face, random rather than some great plan. "God will reveal himself to you, you just need to open yourself to him."

Greg snorts and then instantly looks guilty. He leans forward to stub out the joint in the ashtray he’d pulled out with the box. "Sorry," he says. "It's just — I've never, like, believed. I just needed a place to stay, and my mom said that your dad would probably put me up if I said I was interested in preaching. Even when I was a kid, I thought it was kinda bullshit." His shoulder brushes against Kendall's as he settles back on the couch, turned so that he's facing Kendall's direction. "I liked spending time with you though. And I think it's nice that you believe," he adds. "Like really believe."

He never knows what to say to that. It happens all the time, has since he was a kid. Vendors, management from other congregations, his professors at Harvard, Stewy, all of them singling him out as a true believer even when they claimed to be men of faith, the same as him.

His daddy once said it too, though never with the admiring tone Greg's using. Kendall's belief has only ever been good for one thing, in his daddy's eyes; Logan always said that the best way to lure in a rube was to use an even bigger sucker than the one you were trying to catch.

Kendall's true belief always comes with an implied unlike the rest of your family that remains unspoken, another thing added to list of ways he's let his daddy down.

He clears his throat, coming back to himself. "Uh, when I was —" and he tries to sound chipper, but there's no real way to phrase at rock bottom that isn't as bleak as it sounds, especially not to the one person who was forced to share space with him while it happened, Greg getting his own front-row view to what it really looked like for Kendall. "Well, Jesus was the only person I had. That I have."

It's difficult to describe the expression on Greg's face. Kendall feels like he's seen it before, in Renaissance paintings. Lamentation of Christ type shit.

"Oh," Greg says. "That's cool, I guess." His hands grab at his knees. "So, like." He pitches forward, climbing into Kendall's lap, somehow contorting those long limbs of his to make the maneuver possible. "Don't, like, hit me?" It’s a statement and a request. He leans in and presses his lips to Kendall's.

The first thing in Kendall's thinks is that Greg doesn't kiss anything like Stewy does, and that's about when his mind catches up to what’s actually happening, and he realizes that he’s fucked.

Here’s hoping that Jesus has gotten used to Kendall letting him down.