captaincrisis
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Summary
Loving Kendall Roy is equivalent to putting your palm to an open flame, Stewy thinks.
They’re in the same church as they were just weeks ago. The turnout is not nearly the same. In typical Kendall fashion, it’s a pathetic imitation of his father’s. Stewy sits in one of the front pews, surrounded by distant Roys he hasn’t met more than once. Kendall is in front of him, in a box. For a moment Stewy wonders how he’d look. Mangled and bloated and slightly blue. If there’s anything even left of him, he thinks. The thought makes him feel sick, but there’s not much else to think about.
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"Stewy gets touchy when he’s drunk. Affectionate. He keeps pushing his knee against Kendall’s, crowding into Kendall’s space, hands on his shoulders and ruffling his hair. It always makes Kendall’s brain short-circuit. Stewy touches him like it’s as natural as breathing, and Kendall doesn’t know where to put his hands, anxious and untethered even when he’s far from sober."
Kendall can't stop watching Stewy play rugby.
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He tried not to cry. Tried so hard. Used every semblance of self-control and tried to keep it in like he should have. He’s stupid, so, so dumb. Cameras tracking his every move and yet—and yet.
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Stewy says, “Dude, sometimes. I think I, like, love you so much, it physically hurts.”
Kendall replies, without thinking, “What the fuck.”
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Post-canon: Kendall goes to Stewy. Stewy’s arms are always open.
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“Oh, fuck you,” Roman says, not maliciously. He looks down at the ground and buries the toe of his shoe in the sand. “I just… like, I missed you guys? Is that a crime?”
Shiv feels tears spring to her eyes, feels something heavy in her esophagus. She clears her throat, blinks back the hot tears brimming in her eyes.
“Mhm,” she says, “Yeah. Federal punishment.”
Kendall nods, solemn. “Death by firing squad.”
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Two years post-finale, Shiv and Roman find Kendall in Iceland.