Just trying out an idea I had. This is the prologue, if you will. And I have a good idea of where it's going, but I want to test the waters first – so if people like this, I'll continue.

I will of course finish 'Behind Closed Doors' though – and will attempt to do so before Pa Brady turns up on the actual show.

XOXOXOX

Three years it's been. Three long, painful, empty years. Three years of nothing but bars on windows, labour in the kitchens, watching cellmates come and go, keeping eyes and fists down. Three years of being on his best behaviour just so he could guarantee this moment; so he could guarantee that one day he'd be able to come out and see Steven again and hold his head high when doing so. So he'd be able to tell him truthfully that he tried, that he worked hard, that he did him proud.

Part of him knows that he shouldn't be doing this; re-entering Steven's life. He had told Steven the day before he went inside that Steven needed to move on; forget him, find somebody else. And after eight months of blocking Steven's calls and refusing to meet him during visitors hours, Steven's insistence to keep up contact had lessened, and finally he had disappeared from Brendan's life. Eventually he'd have fallen into the arms of a new man and forgotten all about Brendan and the trauma Brendan caused him when he'd been thrown into jail.

"Please Brendan, I can't do this without you. We can… we can run away – go to another country or somethin'."

"Why are you doin' this, you bastard?! What have I ever done to you?! I wanna still see you – is that so fuckin' hard for you to deal with?!"

Brendan knows he shouldn't be re-entering Steven's life, and yet he's already halfway up the driveway. Because any attempts to avoid seeing him will be ultimately futile. They've tried staying away from each other too many times before, and it's never worked out. If Brendan even tries avoiding the situation, it will only prologue the misery and wondering – and he needs to get this over and done with; he's resigned to the fact this will happen.

He knocks on the door to the flat. His old flat, where he – for a few short months – lived a somehow blissful existence with Cheryl and Steven and Leah and Lucas. His family, all together. Before the police came hounding, and Amy whisked the kids away, deeming their circumstances 'unsafe', and everything came crumbling down around them.

A topless man answers the door, and Brendan doesn't even have it in him to feel surprised. He's the kind of guy that vaguely washed through Brendan's mind over the years; the sort he imagined Steven to be with. Tall, muscular, handsome but not conventionally so – rugged looking.

"Can I help you?" He asks, and his accent is strong mancunian. Like Steven's.

"Yeah." Brendan replies. His voice is gruff and croaky; barely used for three fucking years, and he hadn't even noticed. "I'm looking for Steven Hay."

"Steven Hay?" The guy sounds surprised.

Brendan frowns impatiently, "Well this is where he lives, is it not?"

"Used to be." The man shrugs, "He moved out years ago."

What?

What the fuck?

"Then who the fuck are you?!" Brendan snaps.

"I'm the owner of this place, mate." The man bites back, offended. "Who the fuck are you?"

Brendan's eyes glaze past the man, into the flat that used to be his. The walls are still the same… but the whole place looks and smells and feels different. It's strange… he feels like he's been asleep a lifetime and has woken in a weird alternate universe.

"Brendan Brady." He mutters quietly, but even that he can't be so sure of.

The man's expression shifts slightly. Does he recognise the name? Possibly – Brendan doesn't exactly have the best reputation round here.

Brendan swallows. "Do you know where Steven Hay lives? By any chance?"

XOXOXOX

All Brendan can think is… why? He left Steven behind with a flat, a club, all the money he needed and more. Enough to support himself. Enough to fly out to America and fight Amy to bring the kids home. Enough to get on with his life without any need for Brendan at all. A better life.

So why the fuck is he living in this shit-hole? There must have be some kind of mistake. This block of flats is even worse than the vile godforsaken slum he used to live in, and that's saying something. This flat is on the seventh floor, and the kitchen window is smashed and cracked so that Brendan can see right in. And he knows Steven would never ever work in a kitchen like that. It's a magnet for rats, if anything. This can't be where he lives. Not a chance in hell.

But even so, Brendan knocks on the door. His heart hammers – the most action he's felt in his chest for three years. But it's not excitement and it's not loving jitters… it's just fear. Because if Steven actually answers this door, Brendan doesn't know what he will do. Steven can't live here. This is so very wrong, so not him, and how the hell could this have happened?

His heart is hammering and his palms are sweating, but when Steven opens that door it's like all of it stops. Everything. There's nothing but a low buzzing in his ears. His skin just feels numb. His heart frozen. His blood cold. There's bile that churns in his gut but doesn't even have the muscle to rise.

"Jesus…" He breathes, almost inaudibly.

Because this isn't Steven. Not his Steven… not the man he left behind three years ago. He looks vaguely like him, but his frame is now frightfully bony – more so than ever before. His eyes that were once shining, loving and soulful now look cold and are rimmed with dark circles of tiredness. He wears a baggy t-shirt that looks worn and unwashed, same as his messy hair. In his left hand dangles a cigarette, which drops numbly to the floor as Steven reviews the man in front of him.

"Brendan…" He whispers, his plump lips falling open in shock.

Brendan has to swallow several times to get rid of the lump in his throat… to develop any kind of voice at all.

"I… I got let out a year early." He mutters

"Oh my God."

So many questions. Brendan has so many fucking questions, but none of them can travel fast enough from his brain to his voice-box. What the fuck has happened to you, being the main one. But before he can even comprehend saying another thing, his eyes are travelling down Steven's body and his heart sinks in cold, hard despair at the needle-marks that flash up on Steven's arms.

This has to be a nightmare. Some sick nightmare – it only feels real because it's interrupted the hundreds and hundreds of normal dreams where Steven is Steven, and would never ever do this.

"Wh… what have you… what's…"

"Brendan you should go." Steven says suddenly. His voice is harsh. Piercing.

"No," Brendan says immediately, surprising himself. And any hesitation or apologetic reluctance is lost; he steps forward and grabs hold of Steven in both arms.

"Brendan!"

"Steven wh… what's happened?! Tell me."

"Get OFF!" Steven snaps, and pushes Brendan away so that he actually stumbles slightly on the doorstep and back onto the balcony of the apartment block, "Jesus you can't jus'… you can't jus' show up here!"

His voice seems so empty, somehow. There's none of his usual emotion – none of the vulnerability that always crackled below the surface of his strong exterior. He seems hard. Tough. Unforgiving.

It must be a dream. The last time they were together, Steven was naked in their bed. His limbs were wrapped tightly around Brendan and he'd gazed up at Brendan with a lop-sided goofy grin. He'd openly told him that he loved him. He'd snorted with laughter, and slept soundly with his mouth hanging open, and he'd been so perfect. He'd been all-giving.

Three years have passed since then and Brendan knows that, but still this seems impossible.

"Why aren't you at the flat?" He asks despairingly.

Steven actually laughs at that. A laugh that is bitter and hateful sounding. "I am Brendan. My flat, with my boyfriend."

"Why here?! Where's all that money I ga…"

"… And he'll be back any minute, so you should really just do one."

Steven begins to close the door, but Brendan's not having any of it.

"HEY!" He barks angrily, and pushes the door back open with strength that Steven can't compete with, "You fuck off with that – I'm not leavin' ye like this Steven; look at the state of ye."

"You did leave me!" Steven growls, "Three years ago!"

"Yeah, not so you could go and fuck yourself over!"

"How DARE you! It is NONE of your business how I live my life anymore!"

"This isn't you!" Brendan cries, incredulous. "Drugs… needles… are… are you fuckin' kidding me?! Who's done this to you?"

Steven looks Brendan up and down; his eyes soulless as they survey Brendan scathingly.

"You did." He says flatly.

And he slams the door.