Chapter Four

Ste stared at the black shirt with something like trepidation, fingers reaching out to touch the hem, fabric as soft as he remembered. The shirt held so many memories, not all of them good. The amount of times Brendan had pulled him close in this very shirt; the way he would smooth his hands over Ste's spine or reach underneath to stroke his soft belly. It was almost too much to bear and Ste would have bolted had his dad not walked in at that moment.

"You found it then?" He asked, expression unreadable.

Ste nodded numbly.

Sam sighed, sitting beside him on the bed. "You don't have to do this, son."

"I do." Ste said, voice unsteady. "I couldn't get that job at The Dog and I've been looking for ages. I can't keep living off you."

"I don't mind." Sam smiled kindly at him.

"I do, it's not me." Ste said, wincing a little as he stood up.

"You alright, son?" Sam asked, reaching for him in concern, his hands hovering in the air.

Ste rubbed his back absently. "Still gives me trouble sometimes."

Sam bowed his head, hiding the anxiety on his face. Ste could see it though, had seen it ever since his… accident, when his dad had first walked into his life.

"I'll be fine, honest."

"Don't lift anything too heavy."

"I won't." Ste grinned.

"I'll meet you there, I have a few calls to make." Sam told him. Ste nodded, taking the shirt off of the hanger and slipping it over his head. It was a little small; he'd grown in the last couple of years.

He walked out of the flat with his jacket on to brace himself against the cold. Before he went outside however he heard a rumble from above him and stopped in his tracks. Had someone moved into the flat upstairs? A few nights ago he had thought he'd heard something but had brushed it aside.

He wasn't sure if it was curiosity or delay tactics that took him up the stairs. After all, someone could have broken in and it was his duty to check. Or that's what he told himself anyway. He knocked confidently on the door.

"Hello?" He called through. The noise stopped abruptly. "Someone in there?" He asked, more warily now. There was no answer and Ste was beginning to get antsy. "Well if there's anything I can do for you…" Ste trailed off, wincing at himself.

He left after that, deciding that he couldn't delay the inevitable any longer. He made the familiar journey across the village, staring forlornly at the deli. Doug glanced through the window at him, his smile fading as he spotted him.

Ste turned his face away, that particular grievance not what he needed today. He wished he could go to Mitzeee's instead and spend the day with her and Phoenix. Mitzeee worked at the club too but it was her day off today. Ste wished she could be there, he wasn't sure he could do this alone.

He stared up at the building, the air sending chills through him. Or perhaps it was just him, it was difficult to tell. He remembered the last time he had looked properly up at the place, with Brendan no longer beside him. It had been over three years ago and yet Ste could still hear the screams and gunshot in his head. It kept him awake many a night; the nightmares all-encompassing and unbearable. Sometimes his dad would have to come in to his room and hold him for a while as he sobbed and shook in his arms. He felt safe with him even though they'd only been in each other's lives a short time. It hadn't started off that easily, but that was a thought for another day.

He gritted his teeth and went in through the back door. The club was already buzzing with life. Ste felt out of his comfort zone here, not to mention he hadn't had a full time job for a long time. He'd been out of action after the accident and since then had only done odd jobs to make a bit of money. He wasn't sure this was the place for him anymore. It had been easier when it had passed through other hands, but when his dad had come to the village two years ago he had gone for it, little knowing the meaning it held to Ste.

He walked up the stairs, feeling the tremors throughout his body. The place hadn't changed much and somehow the name had stuck through it's various owners. Ste had been able to tell his dad about Cheryl at least and Sam had been happy to keep the name, for Ste's comfort if nothing else. But all in all it was just a building. It shouldn't hold this much meaning to him anymore. It wasn't Brendan, nothing ever could be.

Even so, walking towards the office was a surreal experience. Ste found his hand hovering over the door handle, palms sweating profusely. A crash behind him startled him out of his stupor. He turned quickly, sighing in relief when he saw his dad mounting the stairs.

"Pick that crate up." He told one of the staff who had caused the noise. They did so quickly. People had a lot of respect for Sam. He wasn't intimidating; he was confident and poised. Ste couldn't believe he was related to him at all, or that Pauline had been with him for however short a time. His dad had told him they had been young when he was born, eighteen to be precise. Ste remembered being that young with his own children, the difference being he'd stuck around. That had been a sore point during their first few meetings but Ste figured no one was perfect, and he was the first person to offer a second chance to someone he thought deserved it.

"You mind going to the cash and carry, Steven?" Sam asked.

"Sure." Ste said, plastering a smile onto his face.

"The money's in the office."

Ste froze, glancing back at the door he had moments ago attempted to enter.

"Problem?" Sam questioned, giving him an odd look.

"No!" Ste said in what he attempted to be a bright voice. He backed slowly into the office, the door slamming shut behind him. He stared around, feeling trapped in the stifling coldness of the room. It wasn't how Brendan had left it. The desk and chair had changed, the colouring was wrong and the pictures weren't the same. Ste felt the familiar panic rise in his chest, his heart rate pumping erratically. He grabbed the bag of money and flew out of there, brushing past his dad fluidly, ignoring his protests.

The rush of cold air hit him full force. He hadn't taken a coat with him and he was shivering all over. Tears sprang into his eyes and made his vision blurry. Why was he reacting this way, after all this time? It had been the club; it wasn't right that he was there. He couldn't face the familiarity nor the differences. He clutched the bag with the money to his chest, feeling impossibly small. He didn't want to be that boy again; he had grown so much as a person before he'd been left. Left. The word reverberated around his head constantly. He'd been left behind, abandoned, cast aside.

He wasn't looking where he was going and unsurprisingly bumped into someone. A few someone's, actually.

"Watch where you're going you little runt!" One sneered.

"Who you calling a runt?" Ste shouted back, hitting the man squarely in the chest. That had been a mistake. One made a grab for the bag with the money but Ste clasped it tighter, pushing with his other arm with all the strength he had.

"Oi!" A voice shouted in the distance. It sounded vaguely familiar but Ste didn't have a moment to contemplate it. One of the men pushed him roughly against the wall, banging his head in the process. His vision started to go dark and he registered himself being supported before all went black.

Xxx

Brendan had settled into his new flat as best he could. Truth be told he only treated it as a place to hide out and rest his head at night. It would never feel like home and he sensed that this flat had seen almost as much trauma as Brendan himself had.

It felt good to be close to Steven though, even if he couldn't actually be close to him. He tried to keep quiet but the floorboards were impossibly loud. There was one particularly loud point in the room that Brendan often found himself absently stepping on. He'd gotten away with it for days until one afternoon Steven had come to his door, asking if anyone was in there. Just hearing his voice directed towards him was enough to send Brendan into a sweat. He kept deadly still, afraid to breathe even. Eventually Steven had left. Brendan watched him go out the window, giving a little start when he noticed what Steven was wearing. He really was going back to the club then.

Brendan remembered in the early days how mad that outfit had driven him. The way it had clung to all the right places, how it felt beneath his hands and against the lighter fabric of his suits. Brendan had disliked the deli uniform for many reasons. It hadn't suited Steven right; it was more Douglas than him. But seeing Steven wearing it now didn't feel him with desire or nostalgia, it made him ache with sadness and regret. It was his fault that Steven had gone back to the club, it had to be. He didn't know the circumstances of the fire but he very much doubted it would have happened had he been around.

Knowing he had to leave the house today spurred Brendan to follow soon after Steven had left. He still hadn't shaved, lest he was spotted by someone he knew. Eventually he would have to reveal himself to the village again. He was conscious of news spreading of his release, not that he'd told anyone besides Mitzeee, but the papers might eventually get wind of it. He hated the idea of Steven finding out second hand and thinking he had abandoned him again, but he hated the idea of polluting his life even more, so he kept his distance.

He saw Steven disappear into the club as he walked through the village. He needed to buy food but he knew he couldn't be seen. He braved a look into Price Slice and noted that the cashier was someone he didn't know. He ducked inside, picking out a few ready made meals hastily and some seedless jam out of habit before throwing them on the counter. He was just paying up when he saw Steven storm out of the club, looking deeply upset and troubled. Brendan snatched the bag off of the counter and strode after him, caution discarded.

He saw Steven walk straight into a group of men, saw the way they manhandled him and how he stood his ground. Brendan knew he could handle himself but not outnumbered and not in that state. He shouted out, trying to distort his voice as best he could. He needn't have bothered; Steven was thrown back against the wall, knocking him unconscious. Brendan ran towards him, hardly caring now if he was seen. He pulled him into his lap, cradling him close.

"Steven." He murmured, giving him a gentle shake.

"Brendan?" Steven muttered. He was completely out of it; Brendan scarcely thought he'd remember him once he was on his feet again.

"Steven!" Another voice called. It was Samuel. "What have you done to him?" He pushed Brendan roughly aside, not glancing at him.

"Nothing. A group of men-"

"Shut up and call an ambulance!"

Brendan gritted his teeth in frustration but did so anyway. Steven was starting to come around and Brendan couldn't be here when he did. When Samuel turned to him once more, he was faced with empty air.