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From their spot on the floor of his dark penthouse, staring out at the floor-to-ceiling windows, it seems to Kendall as if time has stopped. That it will always be night, it will always be this tranquil. He might always feel this moment of respite.
“Reflecting is for cowards.” Roman mutters, wrapping his hands around the warm mug in his hands. “You think Dad ever reflected?”
Time hasn’t stopped. Each minute is another without their father, and not even Roman’s denial and thinly-veiled desperation can bring Logan back.
“Maybe.” Kendall says. “I don’t know. I don’t think it would have mattered.”
“To that guy? No way.” Roman says.
“No.” Kendall agrees.
Roman sets down his mug, draws his knees up to his chest. He looks dramatically over his shoulder. “So, really, how come he’s here?”
Kendall just shrugs.
“Like, did he want a blowjob in return for his big favor today?”
“No, man.”
“Is he expecting a blowjob from me?”
“Rome, man. C’mon.”
“I’m being serious.” Roman says. “I may not know what sick, homosexual fantasies you two play out with each other, but I’ve been around the guy long enough to know there’s always an ulterior motive.”
“There’s not.” Kendall says, then. “There’s nothing. I just…I played the friend card, Rome.”
“Right.” Roman says after a beat. Then, with a scoff, believing him: “Fuck you.”
--
Roman looks like he hasn’t stopped to breathe since his crowning by telephone conference, and when Kendall opens the door, he’s all crumpled suit and disheveled hair.
“Did we fuck things up with Shiv?” He asks immediately, hands wringing together in an almost comical fashion.
“What?” Kendall’s still rubbing sleep from his eyes.
“With Shiv. Did we leave things weird? Like, off? I mean, you think we did the right thing, right? She gets why we had to pull rank? Let’s, like, battleplan some of this out, ‘cause we have a good thing going and I’m afraid we just fucked it up.”
He’s groggy, feels almost jetlagged. He wants to shut the door, go back to the couch, and feel the arms that were wrapped around him moments ago. But Roman looks feral, desperate for consolation. He takes a beat to answer. “You good, man?” He asks his brother, finally.
Roman rolls his eyes. “Don’t be boring, Ken. Seriously, can we do a focus group on this? First act as co-CEOs is to figure out if we lost Shiv on this?”
“We haven’t lost Shiv. No one’s lost Shiv.”
“Right. Because…?”
“Do you, uh,” Kendall opens the door wider, since it’s apparent Roman isn’t going to be leaving any time soon. “Do you want to come in? I can make tea.”
“Is that a joke?”
“Yeah. I mean, no. No. I can boil water.”
Roman screws his nose up. But he relents, letting Kendall guide him through the dark penthouse and towards the kitchen.
The only light on in the whole place is reflecting off the television screen. A movie is just beginning, the third of the night, and when they stride into the room, Roman is momentarily distracted by the schmaltzy theme song. He snorts, does some half-assed karate chop.
“Chamomile and kung-fu for Kendall tonight.” Roman muses. “If only you had known about healthy coping mechanisms before apparently this exact moment.”
“Uh huh. So, on Shivvy, man, talk to me.” Kendall says. He’s rubbing the back of his neck, having an open dialogue with himself about whether he actually knows how to boil water. “What’s your co—”
“—Oh. What? Oh.” Roman sounds like he’s stepped in literal shit. He skirts to a stop, takes a step back.
“Hey, it’s okay.” Kendall says quickly. He doubles back to the living room, where Roman stands paralyzed.
He’s out like a light, Stewy. His head rests on his outstretched arm, his other arm, no longer around Kendall, rests loosely on the couch. He looks peaceful, comfortable, and uncharacteristically soft in the dim lighting. He’s wearing Kendall’s clothes. His hair is mused. Roman can see his goddamned toes, this corporate killer who, despite his history with the Roys, has always managed to elude Roman. Kendall almost laughs when Roman stops staring at Stewy dumbly and turns his frazzled gaze on Kendall instead.
“Hey,” Kendall says again. “Rome. He’s a heavy sleeper. It’s okay.”
Roman pretends to gag. “Of course you know that about him. Jesus, what is happening this week? Okay, shit, uh, let’s never talk about this again. Jesus Christ, I regret coming here.”
--
Stewy is almost reluctant to hold Kendall, Kendall who feels the loss of his father like a gaping wound to his side, who wants only to feel enveloped by someone else. Kendall wants to tell him, there’s nothing left of me anymore. He wants to tell him, if you don’t hold me now, how will I even know I’m real?
“Is this okay?” Stewy keeps asking. Kendall keeps saying yes – with his voice, with a squeeze, with a nod. Still, Stewy holds him cautiously, like he’ll break.
When Stewy falls asleep during the second movie, Kendall takes advantage of the opportunity and gets Stewy’s arms around him. Coaxes Stewy so that he stretches out on his side so Kendall can fit easily into the crook of his arms.
Kendall himself can’t sleep, doesn’t think he’ll ever sleep tonight, but he closes his eyes anyway and listens to the familiar sound of the foreign dialogue he recognizes by cadence and inflection now. He feels the steady rise and fall of Stewy’s chest against his back.
He reaches for his phone on the coffee table, dims the brightness. He wants to see the photo again. Of the part where his name is underlined. Kendall Logan Roy. He thinks, if he didn’t love me, why would he write this? What was trust but the root of love?
--
He has nothing left of himself, after a day at his father’s penthouse, after a day of seeing his father on every corner. The deep loss of purpose he feels is matched only by utter, heavy sadness.
Stewy is a surprise, is a beacon for him. He expects him at his dad’s wake in a vague sense, as all of the board members scrambled to make an appearance, but he doesn’t expect Stewy to stick around, to tilt his head at him and ask him what he wants to do, now, and maybe would he like to eat.
It’s enough to distract him, just a little. To focus instead on his oldest friend, his familiar, intoxicating cologne and his presence and his being. When Stewy rests a hand on Kendall’s arm, Kendall wants to melt into him. Wants to step back and say, not at my dad’s, just as equally as he wants to tell his dad, I am capable of being loved, after all.
He doesn’t know if Stewy can convince him of this, really. But he’s spent decades letting him try.
--
--
It wasn’t his plan tonight, this. Or, at least, that’s what Stewy tells himself. When Kendall closes the gap between them on the couch and rets his head on his lap, Stewy feels he must at least allow this, this muddled, overwrought obligation to Kendall’s physical comfort.
He strokes a hand through Kendall’s short hair during the closing credits of the movie, the first of the night for them. With his head on Stewy’s lap and his voice so quiet, Stewy strains to hear Kendall when he speaks, when he says, voice thick: “Sometimes I hated him so much.”
Kendall snakes an arm around Stewy’s waist and Stewy encloses Kendall in his arms. He hasn’t held Kendall like this in years maybe. He feels both rusty and reflexive. Nervous and completely at ease.
“Frank said he thinks Dad loved me.” Kendall says.
Stewy watches the names scroll against the black backdrop. “He had a shitty way of showing love, man.”
Kendall’s quiet against him. “Yeah, he did.” He says eventually.
“I hate him for that.” Stewy says before he can stop himself, pressing Kendall closer against him. “I’ll always hate him for that.”
Kendall rubs at his eyes again. He reaches for the remote. “I’ve showed you Iron Monkey already, right?” He asks.
--
The crewneck Ken hands him reads Waystar RoyCo Annual Retreat 2016 in orange, block letters. A few palm trees scatter the front. It smells like it hasn’t been touched since Kendall acquired it, and it’s small, pulling tight against Stewy’s chest when he settles onto the couch next to Kendall, wearing Ken’s old clothes and feeling unlike himself.
“You been working out, bro?” Kendall says as Stewy joins him. He smirks at Stewy, maybe his first smile since Stewy made him laugh at the wake.
“Uh huh.” Stewy rolls his eyes. “Now I look good?”
“Yeah, sure, I liked the suit, too.” Kendall says.
Stewy settles his arm against the back of the couch and watches Kendall for a moment as he scrolls on his phone.
The tape stops short in his mind, now, his strung-together daydreams about Logan’s death. He had always fixated on Kendall’s reaction to Logan’s death in his mind – especially when he grew older and thought he could save Kendall, and thought Kendall might reward him for his chivalry – but never the minutiae of sitting with Kendall and his grief. Of the deep, tired, look on Kendall’s face, and the way his jaw sets tight.
“Did you know that, uh, my therapist told me no drugs and shit for a while?” Kendall says, setting his phone to the side. “He wants me to be really, like, present. During this time. I think.”
“Oh.” Stewy says. “Is that going well?”
“Yeah, of course.” Kendall says. Then he cringes. “Well, I guess.”
“Yeah, fuck that guy, right?”
Kendall laughs and Stewy smiles, grateful he can at least do this for Kendall. “You’re glad I stuck around,” he says, still smiling. “Admit it.”
Kendall’s smile turns rueful. “Hey, man,” Kendall shakes his head, “I mean, this past day has been so fucked up, and with everything going on, I just, uh, I want you to know—” He shakes his head again, searching for words Stewy’s not sure he’s ready to hear.
“Hey,” Stewy says, resting a hand on his knee. “Let’s just zone out for a bit, yeah?”
--
“Stop asking me that.” Kendall says.
“Okay.” Stewy shrugs. “Tell me something I’ll believe, then.”
“Uh, okay.” Kendall says. He crosses his arms against his chest. Stewy’s still eating, but Kendall’s plate was still full. “Well, I’m not good.” He starts “Like, obviously. But I’m not…I’m not gonna, like, off myself, dude. If that’s what you’re worried about.”
Stewy nods at that, pretends to take it in stride. He pushes some rice around his plate. It’s only been a few months, really, since Italy. Enough time for Kendall’s hair to grow back and for him to grow closer to his siblings and for everyone to agree to not bring up the pool incident. Stewy had seen some tweets, had vague conversations with a deeply depressed Kendall that amounted to nothing, and received one drunken phone call from Roman, who had explained everything to him and berated Stewy for not being there to run interference. But for all that, he and Kendall still hadn’t directly spoken about Italy.
Stewy shoves some rice in his mouth. “I’m not worried.” He says.
“Uh, dude,” Kendall narrows his eyes, “We haven’t spent this much time together in a year. And now you’re waiting for me at Dad’s and, like, mother henning me even though I’m not hungry—”
“Okay—”
“No, hey, don’t.” Kendall holds up his hands before Stewy can stand up. He cringes. “Sorry. I want you to stay, please.”
Stewy sits back down. He starts to say something, then stops, starts again. “I’m just…I’m try—”
“The sibs and I are doing this, like, open communication thing.” Kendall interrupts, as if he’s offering an excuse to Stewy. “I forgot that’s not really how you and I do things.”
Stewy eats in silence for a few minutes while Kendall sits next to him and scrolls on his phone. He feels like he’s learned the limits of nostalgia.
“Ken,” Stewy says carefully, “You’re like this fucking…moon.”
Kendall rolls his eyes. “Uh huh.”
“And you’ve been orbiting the same planet for millennia and that planet just fucking… exploded.” Stewy shakes his head. Kendall won’t look at him anymore. “So yeah, I’m worried.”
--
Kendall closes the door to his penthouse and flips on the light to the emptiness. “I gave the staff the day off,” he says.
It was Kendall’s suggestion, coming back to his place. Stewy had rattled off a number of high-end restaurants with back rooms they could sequester themselves in, and Kendall had nodded along, but folded quickly when Stewy pressed him to make a decision. Maybe just, uh, you could come over? Kendall had said eventually.
“As long as you know where they keep your plates, man.” Stewy says, unloading the bag of takeout into Kendall’s arms so he can crouch down and untie his shoes. When Kendall looks uncertain and slightly stressed by the question, Stewy scoffs. “I’ll investigate.”
Kendall’s kitchen is immaculately clean and devoid of any personality, lifted straight out of a magazine spread. Kendall follows Stewy into the room as if it’s his first time there. He blinks curiously at the cabinets Stewy opens, shuts, rifles through.
“Have you been here before?” Kendall asks, stilted.
“Dude, have you been here before?” Stewy responds.
“Ha.” Kendall sets the takeout on the counter. “But seriously.”
Stewy pulls at one of the drawers on the other side of the island. “Here we go,” Stewy says, pulling out two plates and handing one to Kendall. Then: “No, I haven’t been here before, man. I’ve been pissed at you for a year, if you recall?”
“Sorry.” Kendall says, cringing. He holds onto the plate like it weighs twice what it does.
--
The amount of business conducted at Logan’s wake is admirable, enviable, even. Logan couldn’t ask for much more. The dry eyes and hushed conversations speak equally of Logan’s undying influence on the world and his shallow connections to others. Save his blubbering assistant, whom Stewy watches Marcia scalp, those closest to Logan walk around seemingly unfazed, phones pressed to ears.
He sticks around after the board vote, despite how Sandi’s itching to get back to work with him. He walks the Sandys to the elevator, helps wheel the old man in, and tells Sandi he’ll call her. She gives him a look he refuses to decipher as the doors slide closed.
He stays far past the time most of Logan’s actual family does. Longer than Connor, Willa, Shiv, and Roman. He stays because even if hadn’t envisioned the political hacks, he’s known since he first imagined Logan croaking that he’d still be here, exactly here, waiting for Kendall.
--
Stewy often imagined about life without Logan Roy when he was a kid. Watching how Logan treated Kendall spurred those kind of thoughts in him, mostly hypotheticals. Like, if Logan wasn’t around, would Ken stop looking over his shoulder? Or, if I could get Kendall away from Logan somehow, would he always hate me for it?
When their childhood friendship twisted, when it grew complicated in ways they couldn’t take back, Stewy’s daydreams became more specific, more pointed. In college they were together, or, at least, more “together” than they ever had and ever would be, and he would think, what if I saved him from Logan? He would steal glances at Kendall while they studied and think, I could do it, I’m smart enough to do it.
Around that time, Kendall finally felt comfortable enough to fill in the other half of Stewy’s childhood memories. How that bruise got there and how that conversation had ended, and how Roman got sent off to military school and how even that couldn’t fix what he had already learned at home.
It was in that haze of first love, of holding Kendall on autumn nights in their college penthouse, of wanting to be chivalrous, where Stewy would drift into his imagination. Into scenarios where Logan was gone – dead, locked up, missing – and Kendall was free, was his. Still a kid, like he should have been at nineteen, not so full of self-hatred and doubt.
But Kendall hadn’t been his in a long time, and Stewy learned to stop rescuing Kendall from a world he refused to leave.