Ste was leaning back on the bar stool, elbows resting on the bar behind him, watching disaster unfold.
"He's never gonna do it," Will said, his voice completely unconvinced and slightly worried, staring in the same direction as Ste.
"He will," Scott said, not tearing his eyes from the scene as he spoke. "He. Is. Trollied."
"Well if he shows up at the deli tomorrow with a black eye, he's not coming in," Ste contributed.
Silence fell over the group as they watched. Barney, staggering slightly and belching a lot, was making his way over to the tipsy group of late-thirties women who had just pulled feather boas from their bags, confirming everyone's suspicions that they were a hen party ready for a rowdy night. He stopped two paces away, running a confident hand through his curly mane and straightening his shoulders.
"Excuse me, ladies!" he announced, dramatically.
The three onlookers unconsciously leaned forward, straining to catch every word.
"You alright, love?" one of the women enquired, eyeballing him with a predatory look in her eye. She looked a bit like Myra McQueen, Ste thought.
"All the better for seeing you ravishing beauties," he told them, generously.
"You're a right flirt, you!" said a bony woman with peroxide blond hair. She elbowed the Myra-esque woman beside her. "In't he a right flirt, this one?!"
"Oh, he is," Myra-lookalike replied, not taking her hungry eyes off him.
"Well ladies, you're obviously out for a good night," Barney continued, giving them a devilish wink. "So I just wanted to let you know, whoever's out for a shag at the end of the night, I'm you're man! I'm not picky, I'll take anyone!"
The three boys at the bar were practically falling off their stools they were leaning so far forward.
"Told you he'd do it," Scott breathed.
"Yeah, alright!" shouted the Myra-lookalike, before grabbing his arm roughly, pulling him down beside her, and planting her gob firmly on top of his. Barney struggled for a minute but then, in his drunken state, seemed to succumb to his fate.
"Wow," Will said, as the three of them turned back to face the bar, slightly scarred by what they had witnessed.
"Looks like he'll be waking up with a lot more than a black eye," Scott joked.
"Well he ain't bringing her in the deli either," Ste said, just to clarify.
"You shouldn't have dared him, Scott," Will scolded. "You know what he's like."
"Hey, at least it'll be someone else picking him up off the floor every ten minutes for the rest of the night!" Scot defended himself, and Ste had a sneaking suspicion that he had known how his dare would play out all along. He laughed.
The place was starting to fill up now, growing noisier and hotter as Friday night clubbers joined the music and bodies. It happened so quickly, Ste thought, remembering the days he had spent behind that busy bar. He had hated it the way fifteen minutes could change the place from lifeless to jam-packed. Interrupting his and Brendan's time alone…
Rhys was on his own behind the bar tonight, looking grumpy.
"Right, can I get you lads another then?" he asked, coming over to where the trio were leaning against the bar.
"I'm alright, I'm gonna head after this one, me," Ste declined. The other two protested and Ste found himself agreeing to another. This wasn't so bad, this. Better than his empty flat, at least.
"Where's Ash tonight?" Will enquired as he paid for the drinks.
"Who knows?" Rhys grumbled in reply. "Seems like every staff member that's walked in today has vanished up them stairs. Might as well be running this place on me own." Roughly, he threw Will's money into the register and slammed it shut. "She'd better be working the upstairs bar, that's all I'll say."
"Right, I see," Will said diplomatically as he accepted the beers. He turned to the other two. "Let's head upstairs, then!"
For a split second, Ste considered saying no, calling it a night just as he'd said he would. But he had a new drink in his hand now, and he was actually enjoying this, the mindless banter. It felt like ages since he'd last been like this.
As they made their way up the familiar metal staircase, Ste's disobeying mind flashed back to the many times he'd made this ascent. The first time he'd met Brendan, he'd walked up these stairs and found himself face to face with that Irish fist. When Warren had told him about how Danny had died, he'd trudged up these steps to ask the question he already knew the answer to in his heart. When Brendan told him he loved him, he'd bounded up these stairs feeling that at any moment his feet would lift clear off the ground and he'd be flying.
But tonight, he was just part of the crowd, pushing and shoving to get up or down, trampling on the ghosts that had been there before. Ghosts. That was all they were now, ghosts that had faded away.
And I'm engaged to Doug, Ste reminded himself.
Ash was nowhere to be seen at the upstairs bar, it being manned by a barman Ste had never seen before.
"I wonder where she is?" Will said, looking around anxiously. Maybe he had a thing for her, Ste thought.
"Who cares, mate?" Scott dismissed. "Where are the fit birds at? That's all we need to be worried about tonight!"
He rubbed his hands together gleefully, then threw an apologetic glance at Ste.
"And fit blokes," he added, generously.
"Don't worry about me, mate," Ste corrected him. "I'm engaged, me. I ain't about to–"
The words died in his throat as he his eyes fell on Ash walking out of the office and slamming the door behind her. She looked upset. His pulse quickened, thinking of the things he'd said to her earlier. Had she told them to Brendan? Had Brendan heard him, from his position up on the balcony?
Will's eyes followed Ste's gaze to the flushed, blond-haired girl.
"Ash," he cried in concern. She dismissed him, stalking over to the stairs and down them. Not wanting him to see her upset, Ste presumed. Will didn't seem to presume this though, because he followed her, calling her name as though he thought she hadn't heard him the first time.
"And another one bites the dust," Scott said.
Ste didn't answer. Why was she upset, he worried. What had Brendan said to her? He chewed nervously at his nails. Or what had she said to Brendan, about Ste?
Scott stood beside the silent Ste, looking around awkwardly. "Er, I'm just gonna go take a slash."
He left Ste standing alone at the bar, clinging on to his drink with two hands, eyes still fixed on the steel door that he had seen slam seconds before. He should go home, he thought.
Tentatively, he took a few steps away from the bar and stopped. He should go home and wait for Doug.
He brought the bottle of beer to his lips again and drank deeply. He should go home and wait for Doug and forget about this addictive, ghost-filled place.
His feet were moving against his will now, bringing him closer to the steel door that led to Brendan's lair. He should go home, he thought again.
Suddenly, the barricade flew open and Brendan crashed out, wild and furious, smashing straight into Ste. They swayed for a moment, a glorious moment which filled Ste's nose with the smell of his aftershave, covered his body in the heat of his heartbeat, pressed his limbs with the power of his hands. And then they fell, landing entwined on the dirty floor.
"Sorry, Stephen," Brendan said, sounding pained.
"It's alright, I'm fine," Ste replied, reluctantly removing his arms from around the other man and sitting up. "Are you alright?"
Brendan was still lying flat on the ground where they had landed, staring unseeingly ahead. Ste looked down at him, his worry about what Ash had said momentarily vanished.
"Oh no, your crutches!" he cried. "Where are they? Are they in the office? Are you alright, Brendan? Brendan?!"
"Yeah, yeah, I'm alright," Brendan quieted him, seemingly snapping out of his reverie. Where had he been, Ste wondered. It was always so difficult to know where he was, on the inside.
"Here, let me help you up," Ste said, wrapping a lanky arm around his chest to pull him into a sitting position. A thrill pulsed through him. The closeness. Chest against chest. Excitedly, he wondered if Brendan could sense it. A heavy, rhythmic thump against his ribcage. Heart against heart. He swallowed, involuntarily. Body against body.
"Come on, let's get you up," he said pointlessly, trying to drown out his own desire with inane words. "Do you think you can stand?"
"Yeah," Brendan answered, huskily. His breath was hot against Ste's cheek. It gave him gooseflesh, that hot breath, that husky voice whispering into his ear, so close he could almost taste it on his tongue. Foolishly, he let his eyes meet the dark, wide eyes of the other man, boring into him. They saw his soul, he felt. They saw the evil, the ugly, the things he was ashamed of showing to the world. They saw the pain, the scars, the frightened little boy cowering in a corner. They saw the pride, the happiness, the endless stores of love brimming in his heart. They saw it all, and they understood it, and they wanted him.
They were pressed together now, eyes locked, breath mingling. The music and bodies of the club around them faded, more faint than the ghosts. All Ste could see was Brendan. So close, he could almost feel the whiskers from his lip scratch at his own. All that existed was him and Brendan and the sticky nightclub floor. Locked into his eyes, knowing that his own eyes were telling him everything he needed to know.
That they didn't see it all, and they understood only part. But they wanted him.
"On three, right?" Brendan said, breaking the spell.
Ste was momentarily stunned.
"What?" he asked, confusedly.
"Stand on three," Brendan answered, moving his eyes to a point over Ste's shoulder, avoiding him.
"Right," said Ste, vaguely. He felt dazed as he listened to Brendan count to three and he struggled to help the heavier man to his feet.
"Thanks for that," Brendan said dismissively, once they were righted again. He continued to stare at some invisible point over Ste's shoulder.
"No problem," said Ste, watching him walk back towards the office and step inside. He stretched out an arm, preparing to close the heavy door behind him.
"No, wait!" Ste cried suddenly, stepping forward to block the doorway. "It is a problem. I mean, it's not alright. I mean, I need to talk to ya."
Finally he looked at Ste again, impatience painted all over his face. Except for his eyes. His eyes never showed anything other than seeing, and understanding, and wanting. Not when they looked at Ste.
"I'm busy, Stephen."
Ste pushed past him, into his lair. He wasn't doing this standing in a doorway, being treated like an inconvenience.
"I just wanted to tell ya," he began, defiantly. "That I rang Doug earlier."
"Well that's nice," Brendan replied, reluctantly shutting the door and making his way over to his chair. Making sure there was a desk between them.
"I rang him, and I told him that I love him."
There was a pause. The crafted impatience faded from Brendan's face and instead it was washed over by breath-taking tiredness. Except for his eyes.
"That's good, Stephen," he said, the pretence gone from his voice. It was unnerving, that simple honesty coming from a man who never let his guard down. It was like surrender. "It's good. I told you, I'm done messing with your life now. I'm happy that you're happy with Douglas. It's what I want."
"NO IT'S NOT!" Ste shouted.
Brendan flinched.
"It's not what you want, Brendan!" he continued, filling the tiny room with his anger, his frustration, his desperation. "You want me! You want me to be happy with you! Why can't you say that?"
Brendan's eyes closed for a moment, wistfully. When they opened, resignation mingled with the tiredness in his face.
"There's no point in wanting that, Stephen," he said quietly. "Wanting you to be happy with me. That can never happen."
Ste moved now. In three steps he was around the other side of the desk, hands leaning on either arm of his chair, bending down on top of him.
"Why not?" he yelled, face inches away from the other man. A year ago, this would have gotten his face smashed in, but he didn't care. He'd take the risk. "Tell me why!"
"I… can't, Stephen."
Suddenly, the door swung open and Rhys Ashworth stomped into the office. He froze at the vision before him, Brendan Brady cowering in his desk chair while Ste Hay pressed himself down upon him. Instantly, Ste had thrown himself back against the wall and Brendan had swung his chair around, face rearranged into the black impenetrable glare.
"What is it, Rhys?" Brendan snarled.
Rhys gulped before answering. Terrified, Ste thought. Not because of what he had seen, but because Brendan knew he had seen it.
"It's just… that hen party down stairs, y'know. One of 'em, she's after getting sick in the middle of the dancefloor."
Brendan let silence hang in the air before answering.
"So clean it up."
"Right," said Rhys, nodding and backing out of the office. "Right, yeah, of course… Thanks… Sorry."
And he was gone.
Brendan stayed sitting, chair facing forward, looking at the spot where Rhys had stood. Ste stayed pressed against the wall, eyes on Brendan. Neither of them spoke at all for several minutes. That was it, Ste supposed. He had been right to choose Doug. It didn't matter what those eyes showed, the seeing and the understanding and the wanting. The bottom line would never change. The bottom line was Ste sitting in the gutter in the dark, eagerly waiting for whatever scraps were thrown his way.
"Would you come somewhere with me, Stephen?" Brendan whispered, breaking the silence and surprising Ste out of his thoughts. He was still staring straight ahead. "It's a bit of a drive. But I need to… show you something."
Ste shifted uncomfortably, thrown by this unexpected request.
"When do you want to go?" he asked, buying a little more time before answering.
"Tonight," Brendan replied, finally turning his gaze towards him. His seeing, and his understanding, and his wanting. He scooped up a set of car keys into his hand. "Now."
This could be it, Ste thought. Brendan was different right now, more naked than Ste had ever seen him. If he didn't use this window to find out… to find out why…
Suddenly, the tense room was filled by the blaring voice of Britney Spears. "…You're toxic I'm slipping under…" It was Ste's ringtone.
He glanced down at his phone and saw "DOUG CALLING…" plastered across the screen. With a flash of guilt, he muted it. He could call him back later.
"Yeah, alright," he said to Brendan.