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A few days pass. Then a few weeks.
Then a few months.
The line rings.
"Ken."
He can't bring himself to reply. A fuzzy static swells on the other line. Then a sharp breath.
"Ken? You there? Did you call me?" A pause. "Hello?"
He decides to throw him a bone.
"Yeah. Hey—hey dude."
"Why are you calling?"
"I can't call?"
"No, it's just... I called you for days. For weeks. You never picked up, man. I thought you were dead or something, hopped off into the harbor and forced yourself to sink to the bottom."
"I'm still here."
"Mm. Obviously." An inhale, then— "Are you pissed? At me?"
"No." And Kendall doesn't know why in the hell Stewy would think that. "God, no, never—"
"It's okay if you are, I get it. I just...you know me...I follow the wind, man."
Don't they all.
Kendall let another moment hang in the air. He didn't know what he was doing. He hadn't since—well...
"And what's the wind saying now?"
"You tell me, Ken. You're the wind."
Kendall almost laughs, but it stops in his throat when Stewy follows with a quiet "It's always you."
It takes Kendall aback, the sudden shift in topic, tone. They weren't ones for emotional confessions and moving words—tenderness was always found spliced between masculine bravado and their casual camaraderie. So Kendall latches onto it, even if he doesn't quite know what Stewy means.
"I-I uh, look...I'm saying, then, I guess I'm saying...I'm not mad at you, Stewy. You're my friend."
"Good. Hey, I miss you, Ken. I hope you're okay."
"I'm, I'm fine."
"Really? What have you been up to?"
Nothing, really. Splurging on drugs for the first few weeks. Almost overdosing one taut night when he couldn't bear it anymore, couldn't bear himself.
Then stopping everything cold turkey and forcing himself to sleep on the balcony at night just to feel something else. It oddly worked.
And trying to go to therapy. It was the only way Rava would let him see the kids. They were all he had—and he barely even had them anymore.
He pathetically sent a few angry emails and made some abhorrent calls to his siblings, to Mattson, Tom, anyone and everyone he could reach. They all got a desperate taste of it. But then Kendall couldn't stop crying and he didn't want them to hear his sobs in the voicemails so he stopped.
At night, he often wished he had died with his father. Or at least, before.
"Kendall? Are you there? Are you okay?"
Stewy's voice was sharp, thick with concern. It almost took the air out of Kendall.
"I'm good, man. Sorry, I uh, just...I'm fine. I've been good. Uh, just, you know...living."
"Can I see you?"
"You don't want to see me right now, Stewy. Trust me."
"I don't fucking care, Ken. If you look like shit or if you're high off your ass or if there's—if there's shit smeared on your walls and carpets. I'm just—" Stewy paused, his voice straining. "Hm. I've already seen you at your worst, man. Remember my 22nd birthday party? Or the night of graduation? Or when you did acid at Carmen's beach house, even when I told you not to? Or when you—"
"Stewy," Kendall cut him off with a laugh, "I get it."
He could hear Stewy smiling on the other line. "Good. Then let me come over. I'll bring over some food—Thai, pizza, whatever you want, man."
"Anything's good, dude. Thank you, Stew."
Kendall was sitting against the wall, knees drawn to his chest. The apartment was dirty, not as filthy as it had been when Kendall was high out of his mind, but still pretty rough. Looking at it all made his head ache—he realized he couldn't let Stewy see it. It was too much, too Kendall. He couldn't.
"But...uh, you sure, man? It's—I'm not great. I just wanted to call to, to let you know I'm not dead." Kendall squeezed the phone to his ear. Part of him prayed Stewy wouldn't change his mind. "You don't have to, you know. Free pass. Friend card. This is enough."
"Shut up, Ken. I'm literally walking to the elevator right now." Ken could hear Stewy's dress shoes clacking across the floor. "Plus. I do, ummm, give a shit. You know. About you." Stewy cleared his throat in an awkward, dry sort of way. "I'm trying to say I care."
Kendall let that wash over him.
Another body of water to drown in.
And he didn't realize he had mumbled it aloud until Stewy's voice wafted back through the phone, soft yet hard yet overwhelmed with love.
"No. You won't drown in me. I'll keep you afloat."
Kendall went quiet at that, just listening to the beeps of elevator buttons and the eventual ding when it arrived on the other end. He heard Stewy shuffling around on the other end—his hand pulling the phone away from his ear, fingers tapping the screen to see if it had been cut off, then bringing it back to his cheek to strain to listen for anything. Any indication Kendall had heard. That he wouldn't drown.
And Kendall figured maybe it was about time to leave the water anyway.
"Okay," he answered finally.
"Okay? It's okay—we're okay?"
Kendall found himself smiling.
"Come save me, Baywatch."
And Stewy laughed.