Matt snorted derisively as he turned the page, wondering how the hell he could ever possibly have been so dumb.

He wasn't quite sure why he still inflicted this torture on himself, but every year it was the same; the last time he was home before his birthday he would go through his old journals. Wincing at another example of his erstwhile naivety, Matt decided that once he was done this time he was going to burn the damn things, so he could never torment himself with them again.

They were okay to start with, the ones he'd written when he was a kid. An entire year's journal would only have four entries in it, and three of them would read, "Played a game with Jeff today - I was Spiderman, he was She-Ra." The early teenage years were okay too, there were many more entries but most of them said, "Jeff is such a fucking prick, I hate him, hate him, HATE HIM."

The later teens though, they made him cringe. He hadn't written a lot of the things he'd thought, but that time was momentous enough for him that he could still remember the thoughts he'd refused to record. He could read an entry about watching a movie with Jeff which said nothing more than that he wasn't impressed by it, and still remember that he'd spent the entire film watching Jeff out of the corner of his eye. Realising you're lusting after your brother is a difficult thing to forget.

It had been a shock, to say the least. To begin with he told himself it was over-active teenage hormones and it'd pass. For a while he decided it was somehow Jeff's fault, although he never did quite manage to formulate a logical basis for that idea. After that he spent a year or so wallowing in guilt and shame, believing that by beating himself up over it he was paying for his perversity, while in reality he was just privately throwing himself into melodrama and refusing to grow up.

By the time he'd turned twenty he'd been forced to accept that it wasn't going away, and that his self-flagellation was having no effect other than to make him a moody pain in the ass. He'd turned to introspection to help him deal with his desire for Jeff, and as a result his journal for 1995 was full of pretentious existentialist crap that made him want to either beat his former self half to death or give him an enormous bag of weed.

After ten months of drivel about whether his body was real outside of his own mind and whether Jeff actually existed at all, Matt's entries took a turn for the better. They remained introspective, but focused instead on accepting the human condition and detailed Matt learning to forgive himself for his fallibility. Gradually, the shame faded from the pages until it was barely a factor at all.

Among the other things the journals chronicled were Matt and Jeff's early years in the business. While the parts pertaining to wrestling were detailed, they weren't nearly as detailed as the descriptions of some of the nights on the road. To save money, there were times when the boys got a single room. For Matt, this was a blissful hell.

He would lie stock still in the dark, intensely aware of the heat of Jeff's body next to him, loathe to fall asleep for fear of attaching himself to his brother inadvertently. Jeff clearly had no such concerns and would spend the night merrily snoring away. It was Jeff's snoring that had made Matt realise his desire wasn't entirely based in lust.

Matt hated people snoring. It annoyed all holy fuck out of him, even though he'd been informed quite irritably on occasion that he did it too. So when one night Jeff wasn't snoring at all, Matt was enjoying the silence - until Jeff shifted, let out a huge snort, and promptly started snoring just as loud as he usually did. Rather than shoving an elbow in Jeff's ribs, Matt found himself smiling in the dark, lulled and comforted by the grating racket issuing from his brother's lips.

The discovery that he was actually in love with Jeff was a mixed blessing. At the time Matt was grateful to find that he wasn't just a pervert with designs on his little brother's ass, and he was still young enough to believe things would turn out for the best one way or another. The most likely scenario, he felt, was that he would settle down with someone he could be content with, and pray that his longing for Jeff faded to a bearable ache.

And then things got really confusing.

On one of the many long, agonising nights they spent in the same bed, while Matt was facing away from Jeff and diligently saying Hail Marys in his head in an attempt to make his erection go away, Jeff spooned up behind him. That wasn't a first, and Matt had miserably clenched his teeth and his eyes, trying not to think about his brother's groin pressed against his ass. Again. Jeff had been kind of clingy lately.

At first it was barely perceptible; such a tiny motion Matt thought it was just wishful thinking. But when Jeff's arm snaked around his waist, gently pulling him closer as his hips continued to rock against him, Matt's eyes flew open, staring into the blackness of the night in surprise. His universe imploded and the only thing left was his little brother, the man he wanted to fuck into unconsciousness and most importantly, the man he adored with all his heart, slowly rubbing his hardening cock against Matt's ass. The boxers they were both wearing may as well have dissolved into non-existence, they didn't seem like much of a barrier at all.

Matt didn't have the slightest idea how to deal with it. Jeff was asleep and his somnolent mind evidently thought Matt was someone else, so it seemed to Matt that it was unethical to lie there and let him continue. But how the hell do you wake a man and inform him that he's accidentally getting his jollies from his brother's backside? And besides which, if Matt had woken him he would have stopped; since this was the only time Jeff would ever touch him, Matt was damn sure going to enjoy it while it lasted.

Matt had lain in silence, his eyes wide, barely daring to breathe. Every muscle in his body was tensed, his brain racing at a million miles an hour only to produce no coherent thought whatsoever. He very nearly bit through his tongue when he heard something that was half sigh, half moan escape Jeff's mouth, but somehow he managed to stay still and behave himself while he wondered who the hell Jeff thought he was. One of his girls, presumably; Matt was under the impression that he had a few, although they didn't really discuss it explicitly.

It was one of the longest nights of Matt's life. Jeff had thrust lazily against him for probably around twenty minutes on and off but Matt had remained frozen in place and utterly stunned for the entire night. He didn't sleep a wink and by morning he looked like he'd aged about ten years. Jeff had innocently commented on it and said Matt looked like he'd been up all night, and Matt surfaced from his shock with near-hysteria, laughing helplessly and uproariously at a joke Jeff didn't realise he'd made.

There were half a dozen journal entries for the next day. Matt had so many conflicting feelings about it at the time that he had been trying desperately to straighten them all out in his head. It hadn't helped in the slightest, and the entries were almost illegible; confessions of guilt were mixed in with declarations of love and fragments of torrid fantasies, and barely a single sentence had a consistent emotion from start to finish.

He'd had such a hard time trying to deal with it, but he'd persevered and eventually started to process his responses to it successfully. It sent him straight back to square one when it happened a second time. And a third. And a fourth.

Gradually, Matt had begun to wonder if Jeff really was asleep. He always banished the idea quickly - Jeff was hardly going to hump against him consciously, Jeff wasn't the pervert in the family. And yet it seemed to happen so much, and every time it would be a little more intense. Jeff's hand would skirt a little lower on his abdomen, his thrusts would get a little more lively and a little more forceful.

Matt would lay still and grind his teeth, the effort of keeping himself from turning around and ravishing Jeff making him feel like his veins were about to explode. As he savoured the sensation of Jeff's cock separated from his ass only by two flimsy layers of cotton, he would try to work out slightly jealously which girl Jeff was dreaming about.

Matt rolled his eyes at one particularly confused entry, remembering his hyperactive mind that day. Jeff had been frisky again the previous night but rather than spooning up behind Matt he'd turned his back to him and started grinding his ass back into Matt's hip. Matt had initially resisted the desire to turn towards Jeff, but when he did the happy sigh he heard made it very clear that Jeff was more than pleased to have a cock pressing against him.

All the next day Matt's mind had raced to and fro, one minute elated that Jeff was seemingly gay or bi and maybe he stood a chance after all, and the next depressed as he recalled that they were still brothers, and having a taste for men sure as hell didn't mean Jeff was depraved enough to want to fuck one he was related to.

As Jeff grew more and more animated during their nocturnal fraternisation, Matt had become increasingly convinced that he wasn't asleep. When they got to the point that Jeff started lightly kissing the back of his neck as they molested each other, Matt could no longer deny that Jeff was aware of what he was doing. And yet still he said nothing.

He'd wanted so badly to tell Jeff he liked what they did, that he wanted more of it, but how the fuck do you broach a subject like that? Especially if you're a man who's not particularly given to discussing his deeper feelings if he can avoid it. Matt had been sure that he probably wouldn't have been able to get the words out if he'd tried.

Besides which, in spite of his belief that Jeff was aware of their nightly games, Matt was still terrified that Jeff would turn him away. The concept that Jeff could never be twisted enough to want to be with him was so firmly rooted in his brain that he just couldn't shake it, regardless of all the evidence to the contrary.

So Matt had maintained his silence, writing his desires into his journals instead of voicing them to Jeff. He hadn't thought it would truly matter; if Jeff wanted him, he'd say so eventually. Jeff didn't ferret his emotions away the same way Matt did. And then Matt wouldn't have to say it, and wouldn't have to face the possibility of Jeff's rejection.

There were still girls in both their lives (although in retrospect, Matt thought wryly, that hadn't always been for the best). Matt hadn't really thought anything of it, until Jeff seemed to start getting serious. It was frankly embarrassing to read page after page of jealousy over his own brother, so Matt decided to skip forward a few months. Not that it really helped.

Matt didn't know why it happened; maybe Jeff decided he wasn't that depraved after all. Maybe he was scared by it. Maybe he just got fucking sick of waiting around for Matt to give him some encouragement in the cold light of day instead of under the cover of darkness. Whatever the reason, they began to drift. The misbehaviour at night became more and more rare, and eventually they didn't even share a bed anymore.

Matt never put up any resistance. He didn't reach out to Jeff, didn't mention the fact that they were now sleeping apart for no discernible reason. They really should have been sleeping in separate beds a long time previously, it had been quite some time since money was an issue, so how could he have explained his objections? More importantly, how much would it have hurt if he'd brought it up and had to listen to Jeff tell him he just didn't want him?

Both men threw themselves into their relationships with their women. Jeff seemed to genuinely want to, and Matt would do just about anything to try and keep himself from pining after what he was sure now was a lost cause. Although his tentative hope that maybe by some miracle he and Jeff could end up together had suffered quite a blow, he still had faith that his happily ever after was waiting for him with someone.

When the shit hit the fan with Amy, that idea lost all its shine. As if it wasn't bad enough that he was having to settle for the next best thing, even that wasn't going to work. For the first time, Matt found himself having to face up to the thought that maybe he was going to stay alone. It seemed unfair that a concept so mundane should also feel so starkly horrific.

Jeff had spent the night over at Matt's place rather than leave him to drink stupendous amounts of whiskey and pass out after hours of maudlin ranting at any and all pictures of Amy in the house, which was without a doubt what Matt would have done if left to his own devices. Without a word, he'd climbed into Matt's bed with him and clung to him, as though Jeff were the one whose relationship had bitten the dust. Maybe he knew Matt could accept it better that way.

There were differences from the nights they'd spent in the same bed years earlier; to start with, there was no pretense of sleep. There was also nothing sexual about it. They lay curled up together, stroking each other's hair and backs in silence, as though they were both mourning a relationship they'd never had, and never would have. At that point sex was irrelevant.

From that point on they'd begun occasionally sharing a bed again. It was a bittersweet experience for Matt, his love for Jeff tinged with sadness at its hopelessness. He could pinpoint every time it had happened, because there would be no entries in his journals the following day. There was really nothing to say.

And so time had dragged on, and the knowledge of his permanent solitude had worn heavily on Matt. His entries became cold and bitter, anything positive in them corrupted by sarcasm. Any expectations were quickly stamped on, to save himself the trauma of having it blow up in his face.

Which brought him up to this year. Matt's entries in this year's journal were clipped and sterile, devoid of any real emotion at all. They stopped altogether in April; there was no longer anything Matt wished to talk with himself about.

Scowling at the pile of journals as if they were all in league against him, Matt pulled himself to his feet. He scowled even further at the realisation that his ass was numb from sitting on the floor in the same position for too long while he'd looked at those stupid records of what had proved to be pointless thoughts and dreams. He was definitely going to burn them, draw a line underneath this ridiculous belief he'd had that things would work out. He was ashamed of ever having been so gullible.

He shoved them haphazardly back into the box they lived in, grabbing the box and beginning to make his way downstairs with it. It was about time for a nice big bonfire.

When he walked into his kitchen he found Jeff standing in it, grinning like an idiot. He felt himself break out into a matching grin. Even with all his finely honed cynicism, seeing Jeff happy always eased his burden.

"Whatcha got there?"

Matt put the box down on the work surface. "Just some old crap I'm gonna burn, nothing important. What's the visit in aid of? Not that I'm complaining."

"Well, you're getting to be an old bastard..."

"Gee, thanks," Matt interrupted, glaring at his brother's smirk.

"So I brought you a birthday present." Jeff gestured at a package leaning against Matt's fridge. Its shape betrayed it as a picture of some sort. It appeared to be wrapped in newspaper with leaves stuck on it, but Matt had long since learnt not to question Jeff's logic. The explanations usually gave him a headache.

"You did? Thank you!" Matt shot a sly look at Jeff. "Do I have to wait for my actual birthday, or can I open it now?"

"Well..."

"Please?"

"Okay, I guess you can open it. You wouldn't want to lug that around on the road with you anyway."

Matt strode toward his present, but was intercepted by a hand on his arm as he passed Jeff. As he stopped, Jeff moved in and wrapped his arms about him tight, and Matt closed his eyes in contentment while he brought his own arms up to return the hug. They rested their chins on each other's shoulders and Jeff mumbled, "Happy birthday."

"It's not my birthday yet."

"Oh for fuck's... happy birthday in advance. Happy now?"

"Yes thanks." That statement became far more true when Jeff's lips ghosted over Matt's cheek, and Matt was so busy revelling in the brief contact that he almost missed Jeff's low whisper.

"Please don't give up on me just yet."

Matt pulled back to look at Jeff quizzically, but Jeff stepped out of his embrace with another carefree smile. "I gotta go, I'm expecting a delivery today. Three tons of cement and a shitload of propane."

"Why the hell would you want three... no, never mind, forget I asked." As Jeff made a sharp exit Matt called after him, "Thanks for my present!"

Left alone with his gift, Matt tore into the wrapping. It was a painting, evidently one of Jeff's own, and as he stared at it Matt felt his mouth go dry. Most people probably wouldn't have caught the message, but Matt had been deciphering Jeff's insane designs for longer than he cared to remember. There amid the hideous explosion of clashing colours was the phrase: 'I.O.U. fifteen years'.