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It always seemed to be while Hugh was making a cup of tea that Stephen called.
It was probably the calm, Hugh thought. Tricking Stephen into thinking he was actually, impossibly past it all, then leaving him to deal with the mental clean-up.
Hugh never thought that deep into it in the moment. He didn't even like to think about it in hindsight, most of the time. Some of it was just too painful to bear. Normally, he only went as far as wondering. Wondering how the hell Stephen coped with a mind like his.
Hugh loved Stephen's mind. It was brilliant, and clever, and funny, and witty. Terribly, terribly, disarmingly witty. And sometimes, it just so happened to stage a revolt.
"Hugh?" Stephen would whisper, ashamed, into the phone when he called.
"Hello, stranger." Hugh would reply, gentle. "Feeling low again?"
Sometimes there would be a reply, sometimes there wouldn't be. Either way, Hugh never forced one.
"That's alright." He'd say. "We've danced this dance before."
Every call was different, not a single one being the same. Sometimes, Hugh would talk. Sometimes, it was simply enough to be there, breathing - enough to know Hugh was there, and always would be.
Sometimes Stephen would cry, if he wasn't completely numb. He'd whisper through tears, apologising for all the problems he'd caused Hugh over the years, for all the trouble he was causing now.
"That's utter nonsense and you know it." Hugh would say sometimes. Sometimes he wouldn't say anything, bar a few comforting murmurs.
But one thing he would always say, no fail, was this:
"Stephen, I want you to promise me that whenever you feel like this, you'll call me."
Sometimes there was an answer - a desperate reassurance that he would, always. Sometimes, on those more tearful evenings, or mornings, or whenever Stephen happened to call, there would be a hard sniff, and a nod that Hugh couldn't see, but felt all the same.
The call would always end the same, too. Stephen would flush a little with embarrassment, apologising for wasting Hugh's time, and Hugh would tut dramatically in an attempt to make Stephen laugh. If he was close by, he'd make Stephen blow his nose if he'd cried, recommend tea and toast, and tell him to sit somewhere - sofa, bed, anywhere that wasn't the cold tiles of his kitchen floor - until he came by.
And if he wasn't close? Well, he wouldn't say any of that. He'd just stay on the phone as long as Stephen needed him to.
He'd still make him blow his nose though. That was a given, no matter the distance between them.
Hugh loved Stephen's mind. It was brilliant, and clever, and funny, and witty. Terribly, terribly, disarmingly witty. And sometimes, it just so happened to stage a revolt.
And that was okay.
Because every time, whenever Stephen called, Hugh would always be there to pick up the phone.