Back at the sharehouse, Rick was grey-faced and sick-stomached as he stood in front of the grimy bathroom mirror, dabbing at the drying, dark red blood on his lips and chin, his grey shirt damp from a small splash of it. He prodded his tongue around his teeth gingerly, highly strung as he anticipated Vyvyan's eventual return.

Not easily shaken, he now made his way to his room, settling on his bed and half-heartedly riffling through his communist books and vinyl records, having been completely silent since fleeing from the kitchen a little while earlier.

Vyvyan staggered through the front door an hour later, the early afternoon sky having grown darker, glowering. The winds had picked up, the temperature dropped.

The punk immediately collapsed drunkenly against the banister, barely catching himself, his eyes heavy and unfocussed, his mouth hanging open. He slipped on the first stair and went down like a sack of bricks, banging his knee painfully. Swaying upright, he made his way upstairs slowly, clomping heavily on each step.

Mike and Neil, sitting watching TV in the drawing room, exchanged silent glances.

The flame-haired medical student pressed one chilled hand to the wall, making his way along to his bedroom, fumbling with the handle. He stood dizzily in the doorway, peering down at a piece of paper at his feet. Reaching down, nearly falling in the process, he picked it up and squinted at what he recognised as Rick's loopy handwriting – though he was too drunk to make out the words.

Rick jolted in alarm as a ferocious kick was landed on his locked door, followed by Vyvyan's screeching, slurring voice. "RICK YOU F…FUCKING POOF! THE…FUCK IS THIS?"

Rick had recovered somewhat, and felt safer with the locked door between them

"SORRY, I FORGOT THAT YOU'RE ILLITERATE!" He yelled back at the door.

There was a scream of rage and what sounded like the punk throwing himself against the door.

"I DON'T KNOW WHAT YOU'RE SO ANGRY ABOUT! I'M THE ONE WITH THE BROKEN JAW!" Rick screeched at the door, standing up now, fists clenched.

"OPEN THIS FUCKING DOOR!" Vyvyan roared, fists pounding on the wood. Rick was dumbstruck when he suddenly heard distinct, racking sobs mingling with the thudding blows. He was almost shocked into opening the door. He approached it, voice back to normal volume now.

"…Why? What could you possibly want? Except of course to finish what you started earlier," he spat.

"Open…the fucking door," came halting, muffled words, as the fist pounding stopped.

Bracing himself, sighing in the knowledge that it was probably a spectacularly bad idea, Rick slid back the bolt and quickly took a step back, watching the handle jump feebly as Vyvyan tried to get it open in the state he was in.

Rick grimaced as the flame-haired punk staggered in, swaying, pushing the door shut behind him and falling against it, breathing hard. His face looked red and damp. The anarchist decided that he wasn't in much danger with Vyvyan in this state.

"What's WRONG with you?" Rick asked, in a voice high with contempt and bewilderment.

Vyvyan turned round slowly, bright blue eyes hazy, Rick's note held crumpled in one hand. The punk offered to him unsteadily. "What's…s'say?" he slurred.

Rick sighed, putting one hand on his hip and snatching the paper away with the other, sneering.

"I'm not surprised you can't read it, Vyvyan. Anyway, it's not important because you don't care about anything anyway."

Vyvyan looked sleepy and confused.

The anarchist had both hands planted firmly on hips now, pulling his typical superior pose. "What have you been doing, Vyvyan?"

"C-can't help it," the punk swayed, his spiked orange hair bending against the door as he rested his head back.

"What, getting drunk or beating me up?"

Vyvyan pushed the bolt back on the door again, locking it. Trying to stand up straight again, he mumbled drunkenly.

"I hate you," he slurred.

"Oh, so what's new?" Rick spat, watery blue eyes wide, still sneering.

"But I…don't."

The anarchist rolled his large pale eyes, snorting with annoyance. "I've got work to do, just get out and go and feed your bloody hamster or something."

Vyvyan's heavy black boots clomped on the floor as he approached the brunette shakily, bold blue eyes suddenly vibrant as he entered a weak light shaft from the half-open curtains, his skin ghostly white, except for the sore pink around his eyes. His forehead star studs glittered silver.

Rick was beginning to feel quite disturbed, and he stared with a baffled expression as the punk moved closer, taking hold of Rick's upper arms for support as he swayed. The anarchist flinched sharply at the touch, realising that he could feel the chill of the punk's fingers through his shirt and blazer.

"Vyv-" He was stifled by the punk's freezing cold lips smashing against his, the vodka tasting like poison, the punk's nose ring nudging against his skin. He froze, watery blue eyes impossibly wide, before yanking backwards, mouth hanging open. Vyv, looking wobbly, was breathing quick, shallow breaths, eyes still hazy.

"I j…just…" he murmured, before collapsing to the floor in a weighty, denim-clad heap, passed out.