Rating Note: This story is rated T for mature themes including recreational drug use, prostitution, and description of mild violence and sexual intimacy.

Future Chapters: I've roughly mapped out a story totalling in 7 chapters told from 3 points of view: Ste (chapters 1/7), Harry (chapters 2/4/6), and Tony (chapters 3/5). I'm open to suggestions for future chapters, so please send me a PM or leave a review if you have ideas! Chapter 1 took me ages to write, so please have patience for future chapters

Chapter 1: Ste

Do you know that feeling? The feeling of being stretched, pulled in two equally powerful yet terrifying directions but being paralysed, unable to let one side win? Ste was in that place now—a place he knew he couldn't stay for long. He knew this game of tug of war would end on one side or the other. And either way, he'd end up in the mud.

He was in Tony's flat, which felt uncomfortable enough, but Harry had emerged from upstairs, completely unexpectedly. Harry. Just saying that name in his head made Ste feel the biggest kind of alive, like an exploding star that couldn't control its own combustion, particles racing through the galaxy at speeds unrecorded. But that name also brought a dagger straight through his heart, cutting open an emptiness and a loss that was just as boundless as those distant galaxies, deep and thick with regret. How could this simple, bright-smiling boy contain such magnitudes?

The small bag of crystal meth was in the back pocket of his dark track bottoms, seeming to give off an energy of its own, as if it had a stench or emitted a signal that anyone could detect. As long as it was there, Ste's mind and body could not rest. They couldn't rest anyway—the drug made him nervous all the time; when he was high, he had no control over his own body, and when he was crashing, like he was beginning to now, he feared for his life.

But Harry—Harry made it worse. Harry: the world a bright path ahead of him, any opportunity and story waiting to unfold before him. Watching Harry, smiling, young, taking Tony's old memories out of boxes—memories that Harry was completely free of, unshackled—filled Ste with guilt. Ste envied him his naivety and felt two sides tugging at him again: wanting to hold Harry and protect him from any bad thing that could ever hurt him, and wanting to stay completely out of his life, knowing that he—Ste—was in fact the most likely source of any pain.

He'd agreed to stay and help sort Tony's things. Everything was changing so fast. Tony and Diane were leaving the country with Ant and Dee Dee. He was living in the same house as a dangerous psychopath who had more than likely killed his own brother, and his sisters refused to see the truth. James had ruined his life, had cost him his business and Harry. And now he was completely dependent on crystal meth and saw no way out. How did everything become such a mess and so quickly? Ste tried to tell himself that it was all just bad luck—that the cards were just stacked against him. But why was it always him? There must be a reason. And that reason must be Ste himself.

Ste realised he'd let his mind wander and Harry, standing on the other side of all the boxes and bags, was sneaking glances at him. Harry looked beautiful. Well, he always did. Today he wore his familiar Keds trainers along with blue jeans and a tight-fitting grey T-shirt that hugged his physique in all the right places. Even in hard times—like now—Harry always had a carefree air about him, like he had an invisible bubble surrounding him that any problem or stressor would bounce off, like the bumpers in a child's bowling lane.

Ste stood motionless, holding an old jumper he'd removed from the box in front of him. He tried to focus, to forget his craving for more of the drug burning a hole in his pocket, to forget his feelings for Harry—feelings that were making it increasingly difficult to remain in the room with him without wanting to slip his arms round his waist and pull him close, like he'd done a thousand times before. He never tired of that feeling; it was familiar and comfortable, yet somehow new and exciting every time. No one had ever given Ste butterflies every time they touched the way Harry did.

"Thanks for helping me with all this," Harry said tentatively, his deep yet bright voice putting Ste back in the present situation. "I can't believe Dad's leaving."

Ste felt a twist of pain as he remembered again that Tony was really leaving, perhaps for a very long time. He focussed on the old clothes he was folding in front of him as he spoke. "It's a good thing he's really getting a chance to do what he loves, make a mark." As much as he was hurting to lose Tony after only just getting his friendship back, Ste realised he meant what he said. "He deserves it after all the good he's done here—after all he's done for me."

He felt Harry watching him. "You mean when you worked at Il Gnosh?"

Ste nodded, staring down at the short pile of old jumpers he'd folded. "I made so many mistakes, and Tony was the one person who believed in me. He trusted me, gave me a job, taught me what I know. He's the one person who gave me a chance when no one else would." He tossed the now empty box aside and set about starting on a linen basket full of knick-knacks.

"Don't' suppose you could give me another chance, could you?"

And there it was. The elephant in the room had emerged in full view. Ste knew he was in no state to discuss this, and even just hearing Harry's words filled his mind once again with disgusting images of him and James together. He felt sick. How could Harry have done it? Ste remembered what it was like when he was 18; he felt… invincible, a grown man equal to any other, fully capable of making his own decisions and taking on any challenge. He knew Harry thought he'd had power in making that decision for them, when it was in fact James who had taken Harry's power—and perhaps taken a part of his spirit he would never get back. Then again, maybe it was better Harry thought he'd been in control. Maybe he'd be protected that way.

"Look, I know I messed up with James," Harry said.

"Harry," was all Ste could manage, letting the irritation come through in his voice. He didn't know what he wanted, but he could feel the conversation heading in a direction he wasn't ready for, and the need to ease his come-down with what was hidden in his back pocket was growing.

"And I know it was horrible what I did, but at the time it seemed like our only way out." The pain in Harry's voice was unmistakable.

Ste felt tears burning behind his eyes as he looked down at a toy dinosaur, and remembered what James had said to him. Ste had driven Harry to prostitution. If Ste had just listened to Tony, ended it with Harry for good, sent him home—none of this would be happening. But he knew, even now, he could never have done that. Every moment with Harry made his life bearable—no, wonderful; being with Harry made him feel like he could be himself again after… well maybe for the first time ever. There was a joy and a freedom and an ease and an excitement that he'd never felt before, and maybe Tony had been right; maybe Harry was another addiction for him. But if that was true, then Harry was the healthiest, most life-affirming, loving, caring, confidence-boosting, stabilising addiction he could ever have. How could that be a bad thing?

Ste could see from the corner of his eye that Harry had stopped packing, and was set on his mission to see this conversation through. But Ste didn't want to talk. Despite everything, Harry's attention was making him weak in the knees, and he felt those butterflies in his stomach again. What was it about Harry's mere presence in a room that got Ste excited? He wanted to hold and kiss Harry, to just forget anything had ever happened, deny it had ever happened, go back to the beginning when things were clear and simple and it was just the two of them against the world. But there was no going back.

Harry took a step closer round the corner of the table, his jeans brushing against it, his right hand thoughtlessly fumbling with a stuffed bear as he spoke. "But it was the worst thing I could've done and I should've talked to you and—and I'm so sorry!" Harry sighed and paused for a breath to calm himself. "I was an idiot."

Harry was anything but an idiot, Ste thought. He was incredibly smart. He couldn't count the number of times Harry's advice had saved him. Maybe that was why they had worked so well together; Harry had intelligence, and for better or worse, Ste had experience.

"You're not an idiot, Harry," Ste said with a sigh, his eyes fixed on the purple brontosaurus he was fiddling with on top of the pile of toys. "But maybe it's best we just go our separate ways, yeah?" He didn't think he meant it, not really, but he needed this conversation to end and he couldn't focus with Harry edging ever closer to him; the closer he got, the more Ste wanted to touch him, and he couldn't let that happen. He felt a headache growing in addition to his anxiety and the shaking sensation he was feeling in his arms. The walls were closing in and he was starting to panic.

Harry took another step closer so he was next to Ste and his voice got higher, disbelief mixed with pleading. "That's the worst thing we could do!" Harry gently grabbed Ste's upper arm, turning him so Ste had no choice but to look him in the eye. Harry's eyebrows were furrowed, his eyes bright and gorgeous blue but full of pain, his rosy face young yet showing a thousand memories they'd shared together—memories that Ste so desperately longed to revisit. He loved Harry. In that moment, he knew it without the shadow of doubt. His feelings were as strong as they'd ever been. But everything was a mess, Ste was a mess, Harry had lied; how could they go back from that?

"We're a team, and we can get through this together, I know we can." Harry was holding both of Ste's arms now, gripping him as if afraid Ste would slip through his fingers if he let go.

Harry was nothing if not persistent. All the times Harry had chased Ste back when they first got together flashed across the screen of Ste's mind like an old projector. He felt the slightest of smiles as he remembered telling Harry he'd found it annoying. He realised it was just another thing about Harry that he adored. But it was all in the past now. Ste took Harry's hands off his arms, took a breath, and tried to calm his nerves. "Look, Harry. We had our chance, and it didn't work out, ok? We both need to move on."

The look on Harry's face was one Ste had never seen before. That magical bubble around him seemed to have popped, fear and shock filled Harry's face, and tears instantly welled in his eyes. He looked heavy, like he'd learned some horrible new truth about the world and didn't know what it meant. Ste's heart broke again seeing that face, and he instantly regretted his words. He couldn't deal with this. He needed to get out of here. Now. He was only making things worse. He turned for the front door, only a few feet away. "I'm sorry Harry, I've gotta go."

Ste's movement seemed to snap Harry out of his despair and he rushed to the door before Ste could get there, blocking his exit. Harry once again showed that remarkable resilience that always seemed to allow him to snap back like a rubber band. Ste felt relieved. "How can you say that!?" Harry shouted, his vigour returned, his hands on Ste's chest, pushing him away from the door. "You don't mean that. I know this is all my fault, but after everything we've got through together, how amazing we are together, you can just drop it all and forget about us!? About me!?"

"O' course I can't forget about ya!" Ste yelled, too flustered to fight himself any longer, unable to stop his impulses from taking control. "I never STOP thinking about ya, that's the problem!" Ste realised he was losing this battle, whatever it was. And he knew he couldn't win it—not verbally anyway. He reached for the door handle, to the right of Harry… and Harry leaned over and kissed him. It was a peck—Ste was moving too fast for anything more—but despite having managed to grab the latch on the door, it stopped Ste in his tracks. Harry lifted his head and kissed Ste again, a bit slower, his lips lingering on Ste's just a little longer this time. Ste felt a sharp intake of breath. Butterflies. A rush of blood to his groin.

Harry put his hands on Ste's waist and started to lean in again, but Ste was already letting go of the door and holding Harry's neck, and their lips met again, this time parting as Ste explored Harry's mouth with his tongue. Harry was kissing him back with fervour and it had been so long, Ste had almost forgotten how good this felt. He remembered now. He felt his veins on fire, felt Harry's smooth skin in his hands, his soft lips on his own, and his heart rate was doubled in a second.

Ste took a short breath through his mouth as he broke the kiss only to turn his head to the side, his nose brushing against Harry's as he got a better angle to kiss him deeply again. He loved Harry's height; he spread his legs just slightly to get both closer and lower to Harry. Harry's upper back hit the door behind him as Ste leaned forward, letting his hands drop to explore Harry's chest and then his abdomen, feeling Harry's hands gripping his back, and travelling up to his neck. As much as Ste wanted Harry, the way Harry kissed him—with a kind of possessive forcefulness, a latent, matured masculinity—always made Ste feel just as desired, the object of Harry's affections. Ste craved that.

He managed to break away from Harry's deep kiss to pull Harry's T-shirt over his head and toss it on the floor. Harry smelled so good, a mix of his aftershave and a hint of salty-sweet body odour. His muscled body looked edible. Ste grabbed Harry's small waist and before Harry could kiss him again, Ste placed his lips under Harry's ear, then more kisses on his long neck and on to his hairless chest, letting his tongue taste a hint of salt on Harry's skin.

As Ste's lips and tongue made their way to Harry's right nipple, Harry let out a quiet whimper which was a sound Ste had deeply missed and an incredible turn-on. He wanted Harry so badly, even more than usual. Maybe because they'd been apart, or maybe was it because he'd heard that meth increases libido? Wait. Meth. He was on crystal meth. He couldn't do this. He was already unbuttoning Harry's flies when he took his mouth off Harry's neck and stopped himself. Harry was breathing heavily, flushed, and Ste saw Harry now open his big blue eyes, his face transforming from one of lust and pleasure to that of surprise and confusion.

Ste struggled to collect himself, his heart still racing and still very much excited. "This isn't right. I've made a mistake."

"What?" Harry was still breathless. "What do you mean?"

Ste bent down and picked up Harry's shirt off the floor, putting it in Harry's hand. "I mean, this was mistake!" He instinctively put his hand in his back pocket, feeling the small baggie inside. Yep. Still there. "I should never have come here in the first place. I'm going."

He went for the door latch again, but Harry grabbed him and stood his ground in front of the door. "Please, Ste. We belong together. We're stronger together." His eyes were full of pleading, his voice high again. "We can sort this; I know we can. Just give me a chance to prove that I'm worth it!"

"Don't you get it, Harry!? I'm not worth it, okay!? Now let me go!" He pushed Harry aside, and opened the door.

"What-? What are you talking about? Of course you are!"

Harry, despite still being topless, was following Ste outside. Ste was exasperated; he needed to end this. He needed to get away. He needed his fix. He turned round to face Harry. "Just stop right there, Harry. Stop." Ste could feel his hand shaking as he pointed at Harry. His head was banging. "You—you lied to me. There's no going back from that. We're finished." Ste didn't even know what he was saying anymore, but it seemed to be working, as Harry stood stunned in front of the flat's open doorway. "Now don't follow me." Ste turned, managed to get his key in the lock to his door despite his shaking hand, and escaped inside, slamming the door behind his back.

No one was home. He rushed to the sideboard under the window, where he'd hidden the glass pipe Cam had given him. It took him some frantic scrounging, but he managed to find it in one of the drawers. He closed the curtains to make sure no one could see inside and took the small bag out of his pocket. Just as he was about to open it, he heard the distant muffled sound of Tony's flat door quietly being closed. He shut his eyes. The tears were instantaneous. They rolled down his cheeks before his face could even react. But it did, contorting into a tight frown, and he couldn't stop the guttural sobs that seemed to come from somewhere deep and hidden in his body from escaping his open mouth.

He furiously flung the bag of meth away from him, as if it was a grenade, and it landed at the foot of the sofa. He let himself fall back, his back against the wall, and he slumped down on the ground, holding his knees in front of him, letting himself cry, defeated. He looked around at the empty house, the empty furniture, the lonely space. He looked again at the tiny bag of meth just lying there looking completely innocuous on the floor. He stared at it through his tears, shaking, his headache growing, sweat starting to join the tears on his pained face. He knew it was only a matter of time before he'd have to take another hit.