I'm sorry, but this chapter is so angsty. I promise it's all heading somewhere though. Your investment is not going to go un-serviced!

XOXOXOX

Flat hunting is a dull, bleak, draining experience. Every place Brendan steps into feels soulless and empty, and he can't help but compare it to how he was living before he got tossed behind bars. Back when he had his flat that was filled with life; when he'd wake up beside Steven's beaming face, enter the kitchen to Cheryl's morning-chirpiness and Leah and Lucas giggling in front of the television.

These places don't even lend themselves to the fantasy that he could have that again. They're stale and sparse, and Brendan knows he'll never muster the energy to decorate them. He'll never stub his foot on a stray piece of lego, curse furiously and then spend the next half-hour apologising for it. This place will be the roof that keeps him dry, the bed that keeps him awake, and the door he'll shove men in and out of when he's feeling particularly lonely; desperate for any piece of momentary human contact.

He feels that now.

He's frustrated. Steven never returned that fucking jumper, but Brendan so wants to see him again. He misses the fucker like mad. He's missed him for three years, only now the sensation is mixed with the constant ache of anguish and regret and blame. In the dead of night, left with nothing but his thoughts and wonderings, his outlook wavers back and forth from devastated to furious. He can't sleep for knowing what the lad is doing to himself.

And STILL it doesn't make sense. Sure, Steven was raised in a setting for the scum of the earth, but he was a high-riser… he was strong-willed and ambitious. It's baffling and it hurts Brendan's brain to even imagine how he landed a life like this. How nobody stopped him… not Cheryl, or Tony, or Amy, or Doug, or anyone… how did they stand by and let this happen?! He needs answers so badly, but every person he asks closes in on themselves, shutting down with guilt and shame but no clues or solutions to offer him.

"Douglas," He speaks with dead calamity into the phone, "I want to see ye. Now."

XOXOXOX

Douglas already knows what this meeting is about, but he doesn't cut to the chase. It seems he has questions for Brendan too.

"How was life behind bars?" He says with a smugness that makes Brendan's fist curl.

Brendan wants to punch the fucker. Actually he wants to strangle him; crush him to a pulp. Because Brendan trusted – and it's no mean feat for him to explicitly trust – but he trusted Douglas to not let anything happen to Steven. Not because he'd threatened him, or even discussed it with him at all. But because Douglas has a warped commitment to Steven that only Brendan can understand. Douglas loves him. At least… he's supposed to love him. And whilst Brendan might not be a fan of that fact exactly… it's a fact that allowed him to sleep at night whilst he was behind bars, because he had been damn sure that Steven had those that were looking out for him. Unconditionally caring for him, when Brendan couldn't do it himself. Through their mutual hatred for one other, Brendan and Douglas had a reluctant respect for each other due to that exact fact.

But Brendan had evidently been wrong.

"You've got a lot to answer for, Douglas." He seethes.

"Yeah, really?" Douglas's tone is cutting and sarcastic, but it's a bravado Brendan can easily crush. "I suppose this is because you've just started paying attention to Ste again, right? Not the same pretty face you left behind? What, once your spell in prison ended, you got bored and wanted him back again – am I right?!"

Brendan doesn't need this shit from him.

"Why didn't ye help him?!"

"I tried."

Why do people keep saying that?!

"Not hard enough."

"You messed him up, Brendan." Douglas sighs, "Just like everybody knew you would. Just like you knew you would – but you went out with him anyway."

"Shut the fuck up." He hisses fiercely.

"And by the time you were done with him, he couldn't even see anybody else, he couldn't even hear us. But you can run round blaming all of us if it makes you feel better."

Brendan's rattled. Doug's right – of course he is – but that doesn't change the fact that he too abandoned Steven somewhere along the line. And now here he is; radiating self-satisfaction at having the upper hand, when he has no right to radiate anything of the sort.

"You're lovin' this, ain't ye?"

"Not really." Doug shakes his head, "I just knew you'd turn up here one day. You're stuck in the past, while everybody else has moved on with their lives."

"Well bully for you." Brendan drawls.

"Even Simon Walker moved on faster than you did."

It's this comment that stirs something in Brendan. Something that surpasses the frustration or anger or fury that currently absorbs his every move. Simon Walker. The man who started all of this… the man who planted the evidence… ripped Brendan away from Steven with a vindictive smile and cold eyes, and a crazy laugh that ripped out of him RIGHT in Brendan's face.

The one saving grace is that Simon Walker had killed himself right after his pièce de résistance. He planted the evidence. Ensured that Brendan couldn't escape the police chase. And then he threw himself off the nearest building. Brendan knew that… because he'd seen it happen. Walker made sure he saw it.

So what the hell did Douglas mean when he said he'd moved on?

"You don't know anything about Simon Walker." Brendan says carefully.

To which Douglas laughs in callous disbelief.

"I don't believe it." He cries, "Nobody told you?!"

Brendan's heart hammers, his throat closes and he feels slightly like he's suffocating.

"What?" He breathes.

"The real reason Ste is so fucked up?"

"What?" Brendan croaks again, and his head is spinning. What the fuck is Douglas talking about?! Steven's fucked up… cos of something to do with Walker? How? No… it can't possibly be the case; the image of Walker falling from that building is still so raw in his head, in his nightmares every night. There's no way Steven could have even known about any about it; so careful Brendan was to separate him from it all. Walker was six-feet-under before Steven even heard that Brendan wasn't coming home.

"Shit," Douglas laughs – but he seems more uneasy and nervous now. His smugness has escaped him and he's looking at Brendan with… is that pity?!

"Tell me what the FUCK you're talking about, Douglas, I'm serious."

"I…" Douglas stutters, bravado truly gone. "Look… I don't think this is a conversation you should be having with me…"

"Walker's still alive?!"

"N…no. Not anymore."

"So WHAT then?!" A thin line of sweat breaks Brendan's cold lined forehead.

"I think you need to ask Ste." Douglas says eventually. "He's the only one who'll be able to tell you the truth."

XOXOXOX

Brendan watches Steven's flat carefully for three days – observes the comings and goings of it. In any other circumstance he'd barge right up there and demand those scumbags to move aside… but now is no time to get into another fight. He needs answers. He needs a conversation. And he's not going to get that unless he chooses his timing right; a time when Steven's alone, and as clean and sober as Brendan can possibly get him.

His boyfriend – Andy – leaves the flat at 12.30pm on Tuesday. He spits out flem on his way down the stairs, ever the charmer. He's a big bloke, Brendan will give him that. And that cheap-as-fuck tracksuit probably hides the true extent of his muscles as well. Still, after three years of having nothing to do but work out, Brendan could easily take him if it comes to it.

Andy always comes back about fiveish, decidedly more unstable on his feet. On Tuesday, that's the end of it, but on Wednesday and Thursday those cronies of his go round there as well. They all start rocking up between six and nine. They don't leave. Presumably they crash on the floor… or 'pass out' more specifically.

Brendan doesn't see Steven come or go for the entire three days, except when he makes a brief appearance to toss out a bin-bag. The sight of him makes Brendan's stomach tremble as physical reminder of how much he misses him. How much he loves him, despite not understanding him at the moment.

Nothing will ever ever stop him loving the bugger.

Nothing will wipe his mind of the memories: Steven's breathless post-coital laugher, his eyes that are bright with luminous energy and enthusiasm. His loud excited way of answering the phone, "HIYA!", and the three kisses that he put at the end of his texts, which he always put there even when Brendan took the piss out of him for it. How he was unfailingly open with every emotion he inhibited; how he shouted when he was angry, and laughed when he was happy, and when he was sexually-satisfied he told Brendan with plain distinctive lack of shame.

"You're here for the jumper, aren't ya?"

Brendan blinks… is surprised to find himself on Steven's doorstep; so deep in his daydream he was. Like a lovestruck fool, rather than a man on a mission. And now Steven's caught him short.

"Urr…"

"I dunno where it is." Ste says bluntly. "I was gonna bring it back, but then someone must've chucked it out, sorry."

He doesn't sound sorry.

But fuck it.

"Can I talk to you?" Brendan asks.

"Bout what?"

That's better than the plain 'no' that Brendan was expecting, so he may as well push the subject a little further.

"Can I come in, Steven?"

"No."

There it is.

"I'm gaspin' for a drink." He tries.

"I ain't got any drinks."

"That's fine." Brendan smirks smugly, and holds up the 6-pack of larger he came prepared with. "It's on me."

Steven eyes up the lagers suspiciously. Brendan has a few other tricks up his sleeve as well, but it seems they may be unnecessary – his cheek has touched a soft-spot in his ex already.

"One." Steven says, a smirk hovering on his own lips, "You're dead lucky I'm in a good mood."

"You sure it's not me puttin' you in one?" Brendan replies casually, stepping into the flat. But behind the façade, a part of him is nervous. Steven's apparent breeziness doesn't feel right to him, and this feat being easier than he expected has thrown him somewhat.

He only saw the hallway last time he was here, but when he follows Steven into the living/kitchen area he sees that it's even worse in there. It stinks of cigarettes for one. The broken window by the fridge casts a freezing-cold breeze into the room. There's spilt ashtrays and crisp packet wrappers and even fucking used condoms sprayed across the living room carpet. There's ID's and credit cards on the coffee table; the sides of them still littered with powder.

Brendan doesn't even want to chance sitting down in a place like this. He's worn his most cheap and casual clothes accordingly… but still doesn't particularly want to contaminate his jogging bottoms with the filth of the sofa. But he must do if there's a chance he can have a proper conversation.

Steven smirks in amusement at the way Brendan perches at the edge.

"What's put you in such a good mood then?" Brendan asks, hastily starting up the small-talk.

Steven shrugs. He doesn't want to admit that the affects of his drug-intake have seen him well this morning – and that's the sole reason for his compliance. At least he's got enough dignity left not to brag about his morbid lifestyle, Brendan thinks.

"Here you go." Brendan says, and passes him a beer.

"Ta."

"Anthony not home?"

"Andy."

"Whatever."

"No he's not." Ste rolls his eyes, seeing through Brendan's jealousy immediately. Even in his state, he still has that ability to clock Brendan's true feelings. Impressive.

"Working man, is he? I didn't get that impression from him."

"What do you want, Brendan?" Ste sighs; his patience and good mood wavering.

Shit. That's put him in a corner. Brendan's plan hadn't extended to this point, partly because he hadn't expected to be let in in the first place, and partly because there are no words for what he wants. I want you to leave here. I want you to come back to my new flat with me. I want to look after you and make you better. I want to get you clean. I want to find out where it all went wrong. I want to take back the last three years and change them. I want to undo what I did. I want to undo you.

"Just wanted a gossip." He says instead, with dry sarcasm.

Ste actually laughs. Kind of. It's more of a disdainful snort, which says 'typical', and resents Brendan's inability to be straight with him.

Fuck it. If Steven wants him to be straight, then maybe that's what Brendan will do. There's nothing to be afraid of, after all. He may have changed, but this is still Steven – the man Brendan has poured his heart out to, given everything to, sacrificed everything for. There are no secrets between them. There's not a part of Brendans body or soul or mind that Steven hasn't already touched.

So he takes a deep breath, and says with complete earnestness; "I'm worried about you, Steven. "

Ste rolls his eyes at that. "You're only worried about me when it suits you, Brendan."

"That's not true."

"Yes it is."

"I left you Steven, because I thought it was the best thing for you!" Brendan tries to explain desperately, "Because I didn't want ye to be waitin' for me for four fuckin' years. Because I thought that was selfish and I wanted ya to live your life. And I knew if I didn't let ye go, then you won't do that…"

Steven doesn't even seem to react to what Brendan's saying. All he does is gulp back faster and harder on his larger, lifting the can into the air with vast determination the more Brendan goes on.

"Look," Brendan tries, "I regret it okay?! If it's any consolation, I regret it – but how the fuck was I supposed to know this was gonna happen?! I left you money! I left you a club! You were supposed to be… you're supposed to be…"

"What?!" Ste asks.

"… Happy."

Steven spreads his arms wide apart, holding them arrogantly in the air and brandishing a large determined grin that is fake fake fake.

"I'm on top of the world, me." He says.

Perhaps he meansit, as well. In this moment he does. Which only makes things worse because he has nothing to be happy about. And Brendan knows Steven, and knows that nothing about this set-up would ever bring him true happiness. It's the drugs talking, and with his arms outstretched like that, all Brendan can see is bruises and needle-pricks.

He flinches and looks away.

"Stop it."

"What?" Ste's voice is feisty, confrontational. "What, don't ya like me like this? Am I not fit enough for you anymore, Brendan? Not up to your standards?"

"No, you're a waste!" Brendan bites back cruelly.

"Yeah. And I'm still far too good for you, Brendan Brady."

Brendan sighs. This is a waste of time. He's getting a pounding headache reminiscent of years ago, back when communicating with Steven meant being subjected to his constant bitching and defences. Back then Brendan continued to seek out those sorts of conversations, just because anything was better than nothing. Back then he kind of enjoyed the back-and-forth arguments, because he was happy enough just to be near Steven.

But now there's too much at stake, and Steven firing out low-blows like this just makes the whole situation more hopeless. Brendan needs to break down those barriers, get Steven to open up. But how can he do that when he deserves everything Steven's saying to him?

"I know." He says quietly. "I know. You're right."

Steven says nothing in response, just drains the last of his larger and cracks open another can.

"I'm not here to get you back, Steven." Brendan says, "I'm only here to help. And understand, if I can."

They sit in silence for a long while after that, lost in their own thoughts and sipping from their own cans. Despite the weirdness of their surroundings, it all feels frighteningly familiar. The closeness they had is still there, somewhere, somehow. If Brendan closed his eyes and just sensed Steven's presence, it would be like nothing ever changed at all.

"Those things will kill ye." He says, when Steven lights up a cigarette.

"We all die eventually." Steven shrugs back in return.

"When'd you start smoking?"

"Don't really remember."

"Yeah you do." Brendan states simply. "C'mon, when? Were ye still livin' at the flat?"

"What, you worried I stunk out the bedroom?"

"Steven."

Steven sighs and half-heartedly thinks back, "Bout four months after you buggered off." He says.

"Uh huh." Brendan nods. That's good. He needs to get a timeline in his head if he wants to work out where things started going wrong, "You start doin' drugs then too?"

Steven sighs in irritation this time, "Why's it any of your business?!"

"It's not."

"Well then."

Another silence – slightly more tense. The clock is ticking and it's getting near to four o'clock. With Andy getting back at five, Steven's sure to be turfing Brendan out soon. He needs to step this up a gear.

"D'you wanna know what I was doing four months in?" Brendan asks, his voice snapping slightly in a violent croak. "Four months in they stopped comin' and tellin' me you wanted to meet up. Four months in I slammed my head so hard against the shelf-unit that it split open. They had to take me to A'n'E in handcuffs. Dunno why I did it. Jus' to get out of there for a while, I guess. Like a mini-break."

"I didn't know that." Steven says quietly.

"I told Chez not to tell ye."

"Why?"

"Cos like I said. I thought it was best if you moved on, and I didn't think you'd do it on your own."

"I did it." Steven says. His voice is harsh but underlined with a tremor... a sound so vulnerable, Brendan worries he's pushed him too far. "I did it more than you know."

"Hm."

"And you should go now."

"I still love you Steven."

The words are out of Brendan before he can stop them. He's wanted to say them for so long – they're words that he's practically tasted in his mouth for all these painful years. Nights spent in prison knowing he must ignore Steven's pleas, when all he wanted to do was scream 'I love you, I need you, Don't Leave Me'. Since seeing Steven's shocked face on that day he got back, it's taken all the effort imaginable to hold the words back, but they're out now.

They're out and they hang in the air, and Brendan already knows before he can withdraw them that he was out of line. Steven doesn't need to know that. Steven's changed, he's moved on, he's got his own life – and he's messed up… and probably unequipped for such a heavy statement in his current condition.

Because with them, such a statement is never straightforward. With it comes an intense, overpowering sensation that lingers suffocatingly – always has, always will.

"Get. Out." Steven breathes. And he sounds furious. Maybe more furious than Brendan's ever heard him, and his voice is still scarily shaky underneath it all – so fragile like it could snap and break at any moment. That, juxtaposed with such a cold harsh exterior, is almost intimidating.

"You should just know." Brendan says, "And you can come and find me whenever you need, I'm serious. Whatever time, for whatever you want – I don't care."

He puts down the estate agent listing for his new flat. He leaves it on the table with all the pictures and the full address. And his mobile number scrawled at the top. It's what he'd been planning to shove through the letterbox when he thought Steven would slam the door in his face.

"Well aren't you valiant." Steven practically hisses.

Brendan shrugs, swallows, and allows himself one more moment of honesty – no defences. "I just miss ye, Steven. That's all."

"Well then maybe Brendan… just maybe… you might have a tiny taste of what it feels like!" Steven spits, and he pushes Brendan out of the living room door, and Brendan allows himself to be pushed and shoved furiously towards the front door, because there's no point in fighting it.

Brendan opens the door for himself, and his shoulder slams hard on the side as Steven gives him one final almighty shove, which must take all his energy.

"D'ya want to know what I was doin'? Four months in?!" Steven growls, and as Brendan turns to look at him he's SURE he detects the beginnings of tears in Steven's eyes, but they're gone as quickly as they came.

"What?" Brendan's voice is almost gone.

"I was fucking Simon Walker." Ste states plainly. Hatefully.

And it's like Brendan's whole world is crashing down around him – everything he knew, everything he thought he knew… his brain exploding in desperate confusion, manic disbelief, gut-bouldering pain.

An overwhelming sense betrayal overcomes him. He hears himself gasp, rasped, and he falls back against the bars of the balcony… hardly able to stand.

Steven nods assertively; confirming what Brendan couldn't possibly believe otherwise.

"Yeah." He says quietly, "And now maybe you're a bit closer. To knowin' how it feels."

And the door slams shut.