"Brendan…" He whispers.

He doesn't want to move; feels oddly secure with his cheek pressed up against Brendan's chest, Brendan's palm wrapped around the back of his neck. He's been positioned this way for hours, trying to calm himself by listening to the repetitive drum of Brendan's heartbeat.

But it's getting harder and harder to remain calm. He hasn't slept a wink. He's got that feeling all over his skin… like an itch that's going longer and longer unattended. Like a dry mouth gasping for a drink, or a man on the brink of starvation.

"Brendan," he hisses, and shuffles slightly. His muscles ache acutely under the strain of a small movement.

"Hmmm?" Brendan mumbles, still half asleep himself.

Ste may as well come out with it. No point beating around the bush- not when he's already been holding out as long as possible.

"Brendan, I need you to get me a fix. Please. Now. Please."

Brendan's awake then – immediately. And confronted by his alert state, Ste suddenly feels self-conscious and pulls himself away so that not a part of them is touching. With every fibre of his body he stares into Brendan's eyes and longs for him to move fast, to make whatever call he has to make, to fucking help because Ste can't leave the itch any longer.

"You've gotta be fuckin' kidding me." Brendan breathes.

"No." Ste shakes his head, feels a wave of panic wash through him as he realises this isn't going to be as easy as he needs it to be. "Jus'… please Bren… jus' call one of your guys, yeah? For me."

"You're sick in the head if you think I'm doin' that."

Ste shakes his head, refusing to hear this, and his heart's hammering in overdrive because Brendan's not listening, he doesn't understand and Ste doesn't have time for this. He feels sick and his body temperature is increasing like he's physically on fire from the desperation.

Brendan can't leave him like this – no way.

He can't torture him – this isn't Ste's fault.

"Look, I SWEAR TO GOD, you get it for me or I'm gettin' out of here!"

"You overdose, you get raped, and you learn NOTHIN'?! What the fuck is wrong with y…"

"I DON'T HAVE TIME TO ARGUE WITH YA, I JUST NEED YOU TO…"

"Just breathe through it!" Brendan demands, as if it's that easy. And he's staring at Ste expectantly, as if Ste can really do that, as if that's a feasible thing. As if his body is not crying out in agony; agony that just one small prick of a needle can have fixed in a second.

Ste feels tears fill his eyes in an instant – happening a lot lately. He doesn't want to leave here, doesn't want to go back to Andy, not tonight. He's weak now. The allure of staying here, with Brendan, is strong. It brings him feelings of safety practically alien to him these days, and the feeling is so powerful he's almost helpless to deny himself. He wants to be here. Why won't Brendan just help him?!

He tries to breathe, tries to calm himself. If he speaks calmly, maybe he can get Brendan to understand.

"I just… I'm not gonna do anythin' stupid. I'm not gonna overdose; it's just one fix, that's all I need."

"Forget it Steven." Brendan stands, and he's walking away.

Brendan's disappointed in him; it pours off him and fouls the air around them with frosty disdain. Not that Ste cares much about that right now. Not under these circumstances.

"Will ya just fuckin' LISTEN to me?!" He screams, "This isn't about you bein' all high-and-mighty, right, this is about you takin' your head our your arse for once and actually helpin' me!"

"What – by giving you drugs?!" Brendan cries, incredulous.

"YES!"

"Oh yeah, yeah alright, and maybe I'll help put the needle in you too – is that what you want?!"

Ste's close to physically tearing his own hair out. What started as desperation is rapidly turning into something more; a kind of alarming anxiety, overwhelming need - so powerful he could choke on it. He so needs Brendan to understand, but his brain isn't concocting reliable sentences for him to translate, until in the end he's just SCREAMING and SHOUTING and there's tears and he loses sense of everything.

He's only half aware of his fists flying, meeting flesh; a roar of surprise and outrage from Brendan.

"Steven, STOP IT!"

"Please!" Ste cries; is only vaguely aware of how pathetic he sounds, "Please Brendan, I won't ask you for anythin' else – this is it, and then I'll leave you alone, I promise, please Brendan."

His hands grip needily to the front of Brendan's vest, his knuckles trembling with the force of it.

"Steven, stop it, I'm serious."

"I can't!" He cries. His voice trembles halfway and then breaks into a high-pitched plea. He must be a state; his tears merging with the snot – all substances pouring out of him like he has no control of them. His whole body is shaking with it. He grips his fingers tightly to the skin of his own elbows as he tries to suppress something, anything, even if it's just his groping hands.

For the first time, something shows through the haze and he notices the blood that drips from Brendan's nose.

And something in Brendan's eyes that looks an awful lot like fear.

"Steven, you need to calm down." He says – but he sounds less sure of himself, less determined.

"Can't." Is the only thing Ste manages to choke out. He feels like an animal restrained; like Brendan is restraining him. It scares and overwhelms him and he's tortured by it. He can never be calm, will never stop crying until he gets the help he needs. Even if he has to leave Brendan's sanctuary to get it.

"Jesus…" Brendan runs his hands through his hair.

"Please," Ste pleads once more, catching his breath and sniffing back tears in order to make his final appeal. "Please, Brendan, please, I need it – I really need it."

It's like Brendan is fighting something inside of himself. He lets out a strained moan which sounds as tortured as Ste feels.

"No, no," He mutters, as though arguing with his own conscience, "No, Steven, I don't like this."

"I know, but you have to though."

Ste does a quick scan of the room and spots Brendan's phone on the coffee table by the front door. He grabs it and hands it out to him, and the phone shakes as he holds it out with trembling fingers.

Brendan looks at it darkly. Snatches it from Ste's hand.

"Hurry." Ste croaks.

Brendan sighs. His eyes are dark and angry and disappointed and scared and conflicted – and it all hurts Ste like he never imagined it could. But it still doesn't break his resolve.

"This is fucked up," Brendan says, "You know that?!"

"It don't matter though."

"I'm only gonna do this cos if I don't you're only gonna go get some bad shit from somewhere else. An' if you're gonna do it, I wanna make sure it's at least pure, no added crap that's gonna kill ye…"

Ste nods, eyes fixed on the phone, barely registering what Brendan's saying.

"Fuck," Brendan groans, and presses the phone miserably to his forehead.

"C'mon, please."

"Just…" Brendan starts to dial the number, but then stops. "I'm gettin' you in rehab. Soon as the place opens tomorrow, I'm callin' them."

"Just dial the number, please."

"JESUS, you're not even LISTENIN'!" Brendan rages.

But he says nothing more after that, and Ste releases a breath he didn't even realise he was holding as he watches Brendan finally dial the number.

"Hey," Brendan mumbles into the phone, "I need ye to get over here with some stuff. Now. … I know it's been a long time, what the fuck does that matter?! ... Hey, hey, hey – I don't employ you to ask questions! Jus' get over here right now."

XOXOXOXOXOX

Brendan's sofa is comfortable. So fucking comfortable. The leather is warm against Ste's cheek, and it smells new and clean, but he can also smell the scent of Brendan's aftershave against the material. Even after his three years in prison, Brendan's smell hasn't changed. It smells of a happy time… reminding Ste faintly of entangled naked limbs, and sarky remarks with hushed laughter, secret whispered confessions inside the bed-sheets, and the softness of that moustache against his skin and under his fingertips.

Prior to today, he'd blocked out all good memories of Brendan. When he thought about him in prison, he thought about his sour mood-swings and heavy fists and selfishness that never ceased to surprise him.

But now as he lies against the sofa, pleasure coursing through his body from the needle – he's remembering other things. Brendan busies himself in the kitchen a few metres away and he's not speaking to Ste… and it reminds Ste of that one time back in Hollyoaks. He'd lay across the sofa, trying to be enticing whilst Brendan was broody and sulking about something or other. Ste had been drunk; intoxicated in a way which used to make him flirtatious and giggly.

"Brendaaaaaan," He'd sung, and watched as Brendan's mouth twitched – suppressing his amusement, "Brendaaaaan! I'm very lonely over 'ere!"

He feels the urge to do the same thing now.

Something inside of him pangs with nostalgia… he wants to feel that giddiness of being young and carefree and in love again. He'll recreate it manually if he has to.

"Brendaaaaaan!" He sings. His voice slurs slightly as he says it, and he sounds a bit more groggy than he did in his memory, "Brendaaaaaan!'

Brendan ignores him. Won't even look at him this time.

"You're bein' very moody!" Ste points out, "Some things never change, eh?!"

Brendan stiffens. But then he resumes his position over his paperwork. Not that Ste believes he actually has paperwork… he doubts Brendan's had time to buy another business since getting out of jail.

"Brendaaaaaan," He sighs, energy draining from him slightly.

"Stop it, Steven."

"What? You're not bein' a very good host, are ya?"

"Ye don't need me to entertain you." Brendan says dully, "You got your needle for that."

Ste rolls his eyes. "Oh, is that why you're in a bad mood?"

Brendan stares at him, disbelieving. It makes Ste self-conscious.

"What?" He asks.

"I'm fuckin' furious at ye, that's what!" Brendan shouts back.

"Well you've got no right to be – you don't own me! S'none of your business what I do in my spare time, is it?"

"It's my business when you get fucked off your head on my own couch. With my own money."

"Oh, I'll pay ya back!" Ste snaps irritably.

"It's not about that!"

"YOU just said it was!"

"No it's…" Brendan sighs, exasperated, "Jesus, there's no point even talkin' to ye when you're like this."

Brendan gathers his things and makes to leave the room. Watching him go, Ste feels his heart pang with guilt or loss or disappointment or… or something. Something he shouldn't feel. After everything Brendan did to him, after he left Ste to rot when he went to prison… Ste shouldn't even be here. It's so typically weak of him to fall back into Brendan's presence despite everything. Sending off signals that Brendan can do it all over again, and Ste will still be here – which simply shouldn't be true. Brendan makes a fool of him. And even after all these years, it seems that one thing hasn't changed.

"…Brendan?" Ste mutters quietly as he pokes his head round Brendan's bedroom door.

Brendan's laying face down on his bed, head rested on his arms, armpit hair jetting out from underneath his tight black t-shirt.

Ste glances around his room briefly. It's plain – white walls, grey bedding, iron bed-posts. And it's unnaturally tidy as only Brendan is.

Ste's eyes scan over the chest of drawers. Lined on top is Brendan's aftershave, moustache comb, a half-empty glass of scotch. His wallet lays abandoned by the side, with half the stash that that bloke bought round. Again, Ste feels an uncalled for pang of guilt.

Even more so when his eyes rest on the photograph.

It's a print out. And recognising his own face on it, Ste can't help but move further into the bedroom and pick it up. And there's his own face looking back at him. The same… but so different. It's from Dublin. Ste recognises it immediately; it had been the background on Brendan's phone for the entire time they were together.

The picture-version of Ste is grinning. His arm is hooked comfortably around Brendan's shoulders. He looks relaxed… like life was easy then. Like he was happy – genuinely, and without any pain in it. Brendan's arm is outstretched, holding out the phone that took the picture.

"What's this?" Ste asks, his voice breaking slightly.

"What's it look like?" Brendan grunts back, typically evasive.

"Why's it here?"

"I had it in prison." Brendan mutters, "Jus' put it back."

Ste's stomach feels tight, and the photo shakes slightly in his fingers. It's overwhelming. The picture speaks volumes; all the words that are too hard for Brendan or Ste to say out loud. It screams out the past – intense in its picturesque reminder of happiness and love. A visual shout-out to what they had. What's disintegrated away into foulness, as Ste barely even recognises himself in it.

"Put it back Steven." Brendan says firmly.

"Why've you even kept this? It's well old."

Brendan gets up then. He crosses the room and prises the picture from Ste's fingers, and he puts it back in its exact place on the chest of drawers.

"I can keep it if I want."

"Yeah but why though?"

Ste feels self-conscious. He feels like he's looking into a picture of Brendan's deceased ex-sweetheart. He feels like an intruder who's robbed the body of Brendan's old happy love… and like Brendan must hate him for it.

"I like that picture." Brendan says, with tired honesty. "I miss it. Every day."

"You… you miss me?"

Brendan thinks about that for a minute.

"Yeah." He sighs deeply, "Yeah, I do Steven."

"Even though I'm right here."

"Half here."

"What d'ya mean?"

"Your eyes can hardly focus."

Ste swallows. Feels guilty again, and hates himself for feeling it.

"So what," He feels his defences rising, "You wanked over that picture every night in prison instead of actually lettin' me visit ya?!"

Brendan rolls his eyes. He's closing down again – like he can barely be bothered to hold a conversation, and he's refusing to rise to Ste's antagonising.

"Yeah, somethin' like that."

"Right, well I don't want you lookin' at it!" Ste says. Somewhere, vaguely, he can feel that's he's being unreasonable, but he doesn't care. He feels irritant and strangely violated. And jealous. Fucking jealous… of his old-self.

And it's not even the drugs making him this crazy. It's the situation. It's Brendan. Always Brendan. Always worse than any drug has ever been.

"I don't want you lookin' at it, right?!" Ste repeats, psyching himself up. "It's history! An'… and you jus' need to get over that."

"Get over it?"

"Yeah! That's not me anymore, okay, so you lookin' at it like you're a fuckin' widower is just… well it's just pathetic!"

Brendan tuts, "Oh shut up Steven."

"No, you shut up!"

"D'ye wanna get out of my bedroom now?"

"No! I wanna see ya rip it up."

He can't stop himself. He doesn't even know why… doesn't know why he's demanding these things… just wants to see if Brendan will.

"Get out of my room." Brendan says flatly. Still calm… but his taking a deep breath suggests he'd like to be anything but.

"RIP IT UP I SAID!"

"Yeah, and I said get the fuck out of here!" Brendan yells back.

There's not a rational or coherent thought in his mind as Ste lunges for the picture. He's acting on impulse – on sheer long-bottled emotion. When he tears the paper it sounds impossibly loud and menacing. But he rips again and again and again and again and again, until it's nothing… until it's tiny tiny pieces that are dropping all over Brendan's pristine carpet. Ripping and tearing right through their stupid smiles and their stupid naïve happiness.

Brendan just watches him. He's completely still. Expertly expressionless.

And Ste hates that, because when there's nothing more to rip, there's nothing he can do with himself. It's like he wants to destroy more… wants Brendan to fight him so he can fight back. But Brendan's giving him nothing and that's worse than anything.

Ste shoves him – hard. The palms of his hands hit Brendan's rock-hard chest with a violent whack.

Brendan barely shifts. Like a statue.

Ste reels back this time, ready to exert more strength, and goes for another shove. But Brendan catches his wrists in midair before he can make the contact, and God he's strong; Ste can barely fucking move his arms, but that doesn't stop him struggling.

"Get off!" He growls, teeth clenched with the efforts.

"You come in here and throw your weight around and fuck up my stuff, is that how this is gonna work?!" Brendan hisses.

It sounds callous and hateful in Ste's ears, and he can't stand it. The tears sting him from the inside.

"Fine, I'll leave then!" He sniffs, trying to keep the tremble out of his voice.

"Or how about you DON'T leave, but how about you fuckin' pull yourself together and stop acting like a fucking scitzo!"

"You're the one acting scitzo!" Ste growls, "Tellin' me you love me last night, then treatin' me like shit today!"

"Well what do you WANT from me, Steven?!"

"I want you to stop ignorin' me!" Ste cries, and it sounds pitiful. But this is it – this is what's bothering him, he can feel it now. He hates feeling the disappointment radiating from Brendan, piercing Ste like he deserves it, when he doesn't. He hates Brendan acting like an arsehole to him, after he poured his heart out to him last night.

He hates the idea that Brendan might not love him. The new him.

"Ya hate me like this don't you?" He sniffs, "You hate me cos I needed a fix, and I'm not… I'm not him anymore."

"I could never hate ye." Brendan sighs, and his grip weakens around Ste's arms, "I don't hate you I just… I'm just trying to deal with… to understand …this… "

"I don't get what's not to understand." Ste pouts, sulky, "You've been dealin' half your life; you must know how it works."

"Yeah I've been dealin' to low-lifes, they were wastes-of-space. But you're not like them, so…"

"I am."

"You're not." Brendan says firmly.

Ste blinks back the tears forming in his eyes. He wishes Brendan would release his hands so he could clear away the snot forming in his nose – wishes he didn't look so pathetic, wishes the drugs didn't force the fluids out of him like floods.

"I'm addicted." He says darkly, shamefully. "Kay? I can't help it. It doesn't work like that."

"I know."

"So you can't hate me for it; it's not fair. And I'm sorry about… about the picture but I just… I just…"

"What?" Brendan asks.

Ste doesn't really know what. He feels ashamed now, looking reluctantly into the torn shreds of their past. Brendan's picture, which he'd wanted to keep.

"I'm sorry I'm not him anymore." He whispers weakly.

And he is. He misses it – every bit of it. The grinning face of his in the picture displayed a kind of happiness Ste had forgotten he ever experienced. And now it gnaws at him in mourning. His gut tugs in sad grief.

"Yeah, you were a hoot." Brendan says, with the tiniest hint of a smirk playing at his lips. "Ye were a stubborn little fuck, if you remember right. Fuckin' annoying as hell when ye wanted to be. And ye used to flip out at me and do somethin' stupid like mess up my stuff for no reason at all. Just to prove a point."

Ste blinks slowly… his mind holding intently onto Brendans words. Brendan lowers to the ground with a sigh, and picks up a few tiny pieces of the destroyed photograph.

"In fact," he breathes, "I don't think you've changed that much at all, Steven."

It takes a moment for all those words to sink into Ste's head – for him to make sense of them.

But then a small shaky smile trembles cautiously on his lips. And Brendan meets it with a dry, genuine one of his own.

Brendan's smiles used to nearly always be reserved for Ste alone. He always used to love that smile – remembers thinking it was charming and sexy and special.

He thinks so now too.

He doesn't think about it as he moves closer in, barely an inch between him and Brendan. It feels right. Familiar and magnetic and entrancing. And Brendan's fingers curl supportively around the back of Ste's neck, and his hands are so warm and they promise such security and strength.

It's Ste who brings their lips to meet. And it's Brendan's lips that are the most recognizable… the roughness of them and the hair of his moustache against Ste's face. And God FUCK in this moment it's hard to truly understand how he's been without this so long. Their lips push against each other firmly, reacquainting themselves. Brendan's kiss is so solid, confident, assuring. He kisses like nobody's ever kissed Ste – not ever. Like he'll never ever stop.

They seem to melt into it… and minutes could pass or hours, but everything seems to stay still as their lips push and burn and feel each other. And it's like there's no world but them… like nothing ever changed.

When they pull away, the smiles are still there. There's a warmth in Ste's stomach that feels peculiar, but gorgeous. His smile grows as he thinks about it, until he wonders whether he's beaming… whether his eyes are shining like in the picture?

"I missed you." He says quietly.

It's an understatement. It sounds meek and ridiculous under the circumstances… after everything that's happened. But in this moment it could be like Brendan was only gone for days, not years.

Brendan's eyes trail over his face, from his lips to his eyes. Nothing about it makes Ste feel self-conscious. He loves it. Feels valued and worth something.

"Sleep in here tonight." Brendan says.

XOXOXOXOX

He feels safer and warmer and more content than he has in his entire life. He's tucked under Brendan's arm, Brendan's lips rested on the top of his head. Brendan's naked chest rises and falls as he breathes in a way that's almost hypnotic.

Brendan's fingers trace back and forth along the cuts on Ste's thighs. He hadn't even asked about them as Ste changed into a pair of shorts… for which Ste was grateful. But then in silence, Brendan's fingers had crept under the duvet and now he caresses those scars with a gentleness that is rare on him. Ste had flinched at the contact at first, but now he feels calm by it.

He allows his head to sink back and for himself to relax, absorbed in the silence of the bedroom and the close proximity of a man who loves him.

It's a far cry from the fierce coldness of his bedroom at home, where he'd lay waiting for Andy's friends to come and tell him which way to position himself.

Ste doesn't know what any of this means… but it doesn't matter right now. He'll have to go home soon, but he doesn't want to think about that yet. Right now he just wants this… to stay in this dreamworld of back-in-time.

"Night." He whispers, and feels his eyelids sink heavily.

"Hey," Brendan croaks through the darkness, and then he lifts Steven's face with his index finger at Steven's chin, and brings their lips together one last time. Like the last bookend of their weekend together, Ste decides.

He traces his finger over his own lip lightly, remembering how Brendan felt there, and hoping it can keep him going when he returns to Andy tomorrow.