"Keep your face always toward the sunshine – and the shadows will fall behind you"
He's stood in the shadows.
Watching.
He's been in the shadows for weeks now, waiting for the glimpse of sunlight when he appears, in the distance. Too far away. He senses the shadows all around him, can feel them casting their darkness over him, clawing at his skin, suffocating. He wants so desperately to be able to shake them off, to breathe again. But he knows he cannot do it without him, and he isn't his anymore.
His boy – his shining light – is brightening someone else's path now.
The thought almost causes him to double over, gut-wrenching pain shooting through his stomach, up into his chest like a thousand bullets through his heart. He doubts he will ever get over it, will ever be able to walk with his head high or ever find another who he fits inside so perfectly. He knows he never will.
The devil inside him pushes the questions to the forefront of his mind, the questions that force out a cry from his lips, bloody curdling, desperation personified in the sounds that escape him, in the tears that threaten to roll from his eyes.
That smile. That secret smile he only ever saw in the afterglow, when he was fucked out and spent and high on the thick, hazy air which encompassed them, the mutual understanding of what they had both put each other through; what they always put each other through. Was that smile reserved only for him? Or did it melt the hearts of all the others too?
Did he curl his fingers around their neck when he was close to shattering into a million pieces? Did he intertwine his fingers with theirs when he wanted them to slow down, to savour the moment? Did he run his fingers up and down the hairs on their forearms when they were stressed, his touch so sensitive and slight it's almost ghostlike, screams of intimacy and affection and love and how the fuck can he cope without that feeling ever again?
His knees have given in beneath him, he is sitting now, back up against the wall, legs outstretched across the alleyway and head leaning back up against the brickwork. It's dark – not just inside his head and his heart, but all around him, the night closing in around him. He can't find the strength to lift himself, to carry his own weight across the village and into his flat. The flat that Cheryl kept despite her stench of new money now, that she visits every few months to keep it fresh, that she can't sell because she can't let go of the people she lost in that place. Lynsey. Brendan. The hero from her childhood who turned out to be be a figment of her imagination.
He chokes, his mind and body numb to it but something inside of him he recognises the cold trickle down his cheek and it reminds him that he is alive. Despite it all, despite his reluctance to be here, despite the pain being the only thing he has felt inside of him for years – he is still here.
Watching.
He hears the sound of heels against concrete and whatever he has left of his survival instinct gives him the strength to pull himself up, pull himself back into this world he half lives in and to hide away. To go back into the shadows.
He cannot be seen. He cannot risk the footsteps belonging to someone who knew him, who knows Steven.
He moves with more speed than he thinks he can muster, out of the alleyway and up the steps to the flat, his movements stealth and hidden. He lets himself in quietly, no strength for worldly comforts now as he just manages to shut the door behind him before he collapses back against it, succumbing once again to the shadows that dance behind his eyelids, memories flickering past as blurry images, he can almost hear the click of the slide-show as it rotates around his head, snapshots of memories of smiles on Steven's face, of anger and resentment in his eyes, of lust and electricity in his smile.
The nostalgia helps to close off his mind, to shut away the pain for now, and he sleeps. On the floor, against the door of the flat that had once been so full of energy and love, and was now dark, cold and dust ridden, as if it was some sort of metaphor for his life.
-s-
It's the bang against the door behind him that wakes him, shoots his eyes open and places him on instant high alert.
He hears voices the other side of the door.
Careful.
Well it's not like there's anyone living there.
Doesn't mean you can just kick the door down.
Well who's gonna know if I do?
Oh stop being a dick and get your arse inside, you owe me a cuppa.
The voices fade off. Fucking students.
He watches the light sear through the slight gaps in the vertical blinds, rays grasping out, trying to soothe the darkness of the room. He watches the tiny specks of dust floating around, dancing in the glory of the daylight, escaping the shadows that linger all around.
He feels hungry. He hasn't eaten in days, hasn't stepped further than three metres into the flat, hasn't ventured into the kitchen, or up the stairs, or into his old bedroom. He's just slept here every night, on the sofa or on the floor. It's a shelter for him – it's nothing else. He doesn't deserve anything else. Warmth, comfort, a kitchen full of food. He can't bring himself to provide any of it, not when all he can see when he looks in a mirror is the broken ghost of a superhero who lost his wings. Superman post kryptonite.
He belongs in another world now. He's halfway to hell and he knows that's where he deserves to be.
When they had let him out, when by some gross miscarriage of justice and the biggest fuck up in Hollyoaks police history his lawyer found proof of police tampering with evidence for the initial trial and the judge had ruled it a mistrial and ordered his release – he hadn't understood why. He wondered if God had finally took a liking to him, or took pity on his broken darkened soul and set him free, in every sense of the world.
Whatever it was, he had known exactly where he was heading, and he barely took the time to breathe, barely let his own feet touch the ground as he ran back, literally ran to be with his boy again.
He didn't know what made him hold back, made him watch from a distance for that fatal moment before he let himself fall back into his life. It had felt like an out of body experience, like he could stand above himself and watch as his body crumbled below him, breath fighting to leave his lungs, his eyes taking in the sight of Steven – his Steven – with some other man. Tall, slim, suited, Hollywood-good-looking, blonde dishevelled hair.
Fuck.
He kissed him on the lips. It was familiar.
Fuck.
Of course he had moved on. Why wouldn't he? Why would someone like Steven stand around and waste their beauty, waste their feisty sass and vigour on brooding over some piece-of-shit, broken, damaged goods like Brendan Brady?
Nothing's ever gonna change, and I'm never gonna feel any differently about you.
The memory of those words punched him, winded him clean in the gut, the doubt in their' sincerity swimming around his mind now, replacing the conviction which had held onto those exact words for the past 4 years.
Of course he had moved on.
It was Brendan that hadn't. It was Brendan that was stuck in this place, foolishly holding on to those memories, those words that seemed so empty now, that stung him where they had once enveloped him with warmth.
He couldn't keep away though. He wasn't sure what it was – whether it was stupidity, desperation, blind optimism or the tiny, ever-decreasing part of him that dared to believe in their love despite it all, that dared to grasp onto hope with its fingertips because this couldn't be it, this couldn't be over. Whatever it was, something had made him stay – had made him watch from the shadows every day, praying Steven's light could still colour in his soul even from a distance.
He's not eating properly. His appetite has withstood all manner of tests, and has never failed him before. Now the ache he feels for Steven, the yearning desire filling his senses, the devastation of his heart break as it builds up walls now, brick by brick so that nobody can make their way in ever again – that is what has beaten him. Life without Steven, without any hope of Steven, has beaten him.
He's standing in his familiar spot now, opposite the deli, lurking in the bushes, out of sight. It's daylight, it's May time and the sun in shining – there are a few white cotton-wool clouds dotted across the sky, breaking up the piercing blue of the atmosphere above him. It couldn't be further removed from how he feels inside his heart; the perfect juxtaposition of dark against light; despair against hope; his soul against Stevens.
He watches through the deli window. Watches Steven serving customers, smiling at them but there's something missing. The ease with which he used to chatter is gone. Between customers he is lost, emptiness behind his eyes, leaning down on the deli counter, eyes fixed permanently to the same spot, as his face contorts which the flashes of memories behind his eyes.
Every so often Steven follows a customer to the door, holds it open for them and he's sure he imagines it, but it happens three, no, four times – each time Steven gets close he glances upwards. Glances at the balcony of the place that holds all manner of secrets. Glances at the place where he had fallen. Where the game had been lost – the battle conceded – defeat inevitable.
He's sure he imagines the flash of pain that washes over Steven's face as he looks up, convinces himself he cannot possibly tell from this distance, that Steven has worked opposite that place for four years now and he can't possibly still feel the pain that is now so fresh in Brendan's eyes. He tells himself its his mind playing tricks on him, the devil inside his head reading what it wants into what he sees, torturing him with promises of reuniting with that one forbidden fruit that he will never get to taste again.
He feels his resolve weakening. Feels his whole body weakening. Feels his knees beneath him starting to tire and his head starts to spin. It doesn't feel right, his body is failing beneath him, he knows he has pushed it to its limits and now it is powerless, incapable of trying any more, of putting up a fight for any longer. He knows he needs to move, needs to get back to the flat before he passes out in the middle of the village and lets them all see what's become of him.
It's risky, moving through the village in pure daylight, walking right outside the deli to get from where he is now to the steps leading up to the flat. But he has to try, try to escape before his weakness exposes him out here.
The hood goes up, expression fixed down and he moves, feels as if his legs aren't even carrying him, as if his body is on autopilot and his muscles claw against his bones, whittled down now to a shadow of their former self, sinewy and stretched, result of weeks of malnutrition and a defeated soul.
His shoulder connects with something hard and unforgiving, strength reminiscent of his own in years gone by, looks up to see Prince Hollywood with a little fire in his eyes, thoughts fleeting through his mind whether that's what Steven sees in him – passion, greed and strength and protection – what he had once seen in Brendan.
He vaguely hears an Oi-watch-it and feels a feeble fuck-you escape his own lips in return, but sound seems to have escaped him and all he can hear properly is the muffled beating of his own heart, the cold lifeless heart that anchors him down now, and it takes all the strength he has to carry on, one step in front of the other, until he reaches the steps up to the flat. He doesn't care now, he is weak, spent, falls to the floor and crawls, hauls his fatigued body upwards on his knees, his hands tugging up one step at a time and he knows there's people there, people watching him and he hauls himself back onto his feet, careering sideways as he grabs onto the wall, this solid friend of his who shoulders him now, lets him lean in as his feet carry him up, slowly and painfully and full of effort.
He reaches the top step and drops, out of sight now of the villagers, of Steven, and he doesn't care now. He can die right here against the railings and he wouldn't care. Why delay the inevitable.
He breathes, heavy and laboured, and feels the oxygen flood his brain, bringing his senses back, sight, hearing, touch. He sits up, resting back against the metal bars, and it's then he hears him.
The sweet, rough, delicious, Mancunian accent. It's completely involuntary when his heart starts to race, and it feels like the first time he had been reminded of his potential for immortality since the moment he set eyes on his boy two weeks ago. His chest swells, his whole world centring on the words which fall heavily from his mouth. His perfect, sweet, fuckable mouth that Brendan knows he has missed so much,
What's up wi' your face?
Just bumped into this right weirdo
It's Prince Hollywood answering him, sneers with disdain and the gravelly tone of his voice, strong Essex accent, no doubt makes Steven go weak at the knees for him, like his own accent used to do to the boy.
Who?
No idea, he just shoulder barged me then flung himself up them stairs, he looked fucked, half drugged or somethin'.
Uh
Proper funny moustache on him as well.
What?
And suddenly there was a purpose back in the boys voice – an urgency that had been lacking in all the times he'd watched him.
Brendan?!
It was quiet at first, unsure, instinctive.
BRENDAN!
Now it's piercing, terrifying.
BRENDAN?!
Desperate, sobbing out of him.
Who the fuck's Brendan?
WHERE DID HE GO?
Begging, pleading, his body alive for the first time in years with the thought of being close to him.
Up the stairs, why?
Oh God. Steven was moving, could hear his footsteps racing up to him. He stood quickly, desperate to escape him, to hide away from him in this state he had gotten himself into. Because of him. Because he didn't keep his word. Because he had obviously stopped loving him, because he had moved on and who could blame him. Because he was too damn perfect for Brendan to ever be able to give up.
He was standing, leaning, pushing himself towards the door but it was too late. Steven's footsteps were close, getting closer, and his face was rounding the corner now, full of intrigue and concern and then worry and then disbelief and then panic.
The world before him all of a sudden appeared brighter, the shadows fading, falling behind him now as he faced his own private sunshine, the boy that brought light into his soul and for the first time in years he noticed the blue sky, the birds tweeting, the searing heat of the Spring heatwave. His body swelled with emotion, the constriction in his chest – the one that he become so used to he had almost forgotten it was there – was lifting away, his body and soul filling with love and light and happiness and hope. This is what this boy did to him; made him become somebody all his bodily instincts told him he was not. Cast light on his dark soul, brought him back from the abyss, shut out the demons inside his own head and made him believe, even after everything he had been through, everything they had been through together, that the world could one day be good again.
He didn't know if it was the lack of sleep, the lack of food, the torture he had inflicted upon himself like some form of self-flagellation for the past 4 years; or if it was just the overwhelming surge of emotions he felt literally bursting out of him – whatever it was, it was taking hold of him completely, overwhelming him, and he felt himself drifting out of consciousness.
As he fell up against the front door of the flat, he saw Steven running towards him, expression seeping panic and arms outstretched, reaching for him, against his shoulders as he caught him, cushioning the fall, on his knees now as Brendan sunk into his body, cheek against his chest, lying up against him, and as his eyes closed, it wasn't darkness he saw behind them. It was white, it was life flooding back through his veins; it was the feel of Steven's lips against his temple; it was the warmth of his arms as they surrounded him, held him, strong and dependable and enveloping him with need; it was the sound of Steven whispering I love you and Stay with me into his ear; it was the feel of his own body giving in, relenting, sobbing into the boy as he slipped out of consciousness.
Please review :) I will upload the next chapter in the next couple of days.