Ste

I walk a little ahead of Brendan on the way to Price Slice. It isn't intentional; there's something about the way he moves these days, slow and unsure like he's only just finding his feet. It seems normal but I still feel unsettled. This isn't the Brendan I remember, the Brendan with his long, purposeful strides and confidence.

I glance behind often, stopping short to let him catch up. He waves his hand at me, grunts something I can't work out to get me to keep moving. I open my mouth to make a joke about his age but close it almost instantly. I catch myself doing that a lot lately, finding things to say that used to make him smile. I tell myself I don't say them to spare his confusion but really it's because I can't bear to see the blankness in his eyes.

I always thought that losing him to prison was the worst thing that would ever happen to me, to us. Turns out I was dead wrong.

"Are we almost there, Steven?"

The name sends a shiver up my spine but I ignore it, turning around to look at him.

"Yeah, it's just there." I point towards the small shop and note how his eyebrows rise in disbelief.

"That it?"

"Were you expecting a Tesco?"

He shrugs, walking past me to the shop door. I grab a basket and immediately start loading it with ingredients.

"What we having then?" He asks casually, glancing over his shoulder at me.

"Thought I'd make something simple, lasagne."

He nods appreciatively. "Just us or?"

"Do you think Cheryl and Nate would want some too?"

"I can ask." He gets out a phone that I recognise as Cheryl's. I'm momentarily relieved that she's looking after him properly, and then sad that it's not me doing it.

I leave him to it, getting a few more supplies. I'm just picking out some pasta sheets when I feel a presence behind me. I jolt as I realise it's him, standing very close, close enough to feel his breath on my neck.

"It's just us tonight. Nate's taking Cheryl out for dinner."

I swallow hard. "Great," I say weakly, cursing myself for how obvious I'm being.

"You could stay over, if you wanted."

"Brendan-"

"We have a spare room, or you could sleep in my bed."

I whirl on him, my cheeks flaming hot.

His eyes are immediately apologetic. "No, I didn't mean that. I meant I could take the spare room." He clears his throat, looking away guiltily.

"It's okay." I breathe out evenly. I realise my hands are shaking a little.

"You got enough money for all that?" He asks, gesturing to my basket full of items.

"Um." I check my pockets, digging deep until I find a note. "Ah!" I say triumphantly, deflating when I realise it's only a fiver.

"Don't worry, Cheryl gave me some money."

I nod. Normally I'd argue with him about paying but I realise that this Brendan isn't bothered about appearances. I don't know how that makes me feel.

We leave the shop with two carrier bags; Brendan carries both. Some habits are clearly still intact.

Brendan's a little unsure of the way home so I call Cheryl. It's a brief conversation; she sounds anxious.

We walk along in silence, but it isn't uncomfortable. I can feel him beside me, even when I'm not looking at him, and it feels like old times when I could feel his eyes on me from across a room, could sense his approach from a distance. I wonder what will happen when he finally remembers me. I wonder what he will remember first. I wonder if he'll even remember me at all.

"You okay, Steven?" He asks, breaking me out of my daze.

"Sure," I lie easily, hunching my shoulders.

"You still cold?" He wonders, mistaking my posture.

"I'm alright."

"We can't be far off."

"No," I agree. We lapse back into silence.

I'm surprised when we arrive at the flat and find it empty. Brendan picks up a note from Cheryl, explaining where they are and how to contact them. I wonder what it took from Nate to convince Cheryl to leave before we got back.

Brendan dumps the shopping bags on the table and locates some glasses from the cupboards, which are still quite bare.

"Drink?"

"What you got?"

Brendan walks over to the fridge, taking in its empty contents. He looks so put out that I have to laugh.

"Don't worry, I thought ahead." I take out a bottle of Jameson's and lay it on the counter, eyeing him carefully.

"Whiskey man, am I?"

I say nothing, watching as he unscrews the top and pours out two glasses. He swirls it in his glass for a moment, closes his eyes and swallows in one gulp. I realise that I'm holding my breath and it's only when he opens his eyes again and smiles, eyes crinkling at the corners like they used to, that I breathe again.

"Not having yours?"

I smile sheepishly, taking a small sip before wincing.

He grins widely at my reaction, like he did the first time I tried it.

"Why did you get it if you don't like it?"

"Because you like it," I say, matter-of-fact. He blinks and suddenly the silence is excruciating.

He takes a step towards me and I jolt like a startled animal. It stops him in his tracks.

"I'd better get dinner started," I say in an unnaturally high voice. I curse inwardly, frustrated at myself.

He leaves me to get on with it, taking my glass over to the sofa with him and switching the television on. I shake out the tension in my body, relieved to be alone for at least a little while. It's unnerving, the effect he still has on me. It's almost like losing a limb and feeling its presence long after it's gone, only to get it reattached again and not being used to the relief that comes with it, not to mention the worry that you might lose it again. I shake myself, laughing a little. I've been watching too many crime shows.

"What's so funny?"

I jump, almost losing my grip on the cheese grater. "Jesus, Bren. Can you wear a bell or something?"

"What's wrong?" He's close again, too close. His ability to ignore personal space hasn't disappeared with his memory.

"You made me jump, that's all."

"I wanted to see what smelled so good," he murmurs, voice low and throaty. His eyes are fixed on my lips. "But I'm beginning to think it's you."

"Bren…"

He brings his hand up to my face, brushing a strand of hair away from my forehead. I feel myself go rigid. If he doesn't move away soon, this is going to get embarrassing.

His other hand moves behind me, grabbing a pinch of cheese and popping it in his mouth.

"That's for the lasagne," I protest.

"Get it back then." He smiles hugely, like a lion might observe his prey.

"Bastard," I mutter under my breath and Brendan raises his eyebrows challengingly. Before I truly know what I'm doing, my arms are wrapped around his neck, my lips pressed against his.

He reacts instantly, pulling me towards him and spinning us until we hit a solid wall. My head connects and I curse against his mouth.

"Sorry," he murmurs against my lips. "Bit over excited."

"I can see that," I reply, my eyes locking on the bulge in his trousers.

"Bedroom's just down there," he tells me throatily. "If you wanna," he adds, uncertain.

"I do," I say, but already I'm wavering. "But…"

"No, no 'buts'. Not that kind anyway." He grins at me and feeling almost light headed with it, I grin back. He kisses me again, more urgently this time. His tongue slides against mine almost possessively. I feel us falling into familiar rhythms until I remember that he isn't himself and I pull away, feeling a knot form in my stomach at my resolve. "I know that look," he says, resigned.

"You do?" I ask almost hopefully.

"It's the one you wore earlier." He sighs, releasing my waist. "It's okay, Steven. I'm sorry I tried again, I don't know what came over me."

"It's not your fault, I shouldn't have kissed you."

"I'm not sorry for that." A flicker of a grin crosses his face. "I'm sorry for how it might… make you feel."

I blink in surprise. "What do you mean?"

He steps away from me a little and I feel myself go cold all over.

"I don't remember us, Steven." He looks at me apologetically for his bluntness but I nod for him to continue. "But I can feel something here, something important. I can't imagine what you must feel."

"You don't wanna know." I sigh, walking towards the oven once more.

"Hey." He grabs my wrist. "I do. I wanna know everything."

"No." I shake my head. "If I told you everything it would only mess with your head." Some things you're better off not knowing, I add silently to myself.

"I know Cheryl's hiding something from me," he says suddenly, looks like he's been bursting to voice this concern of his. "Before we left the hospital they took her outside the room for a minute and when she came back she was white as a sheet."

"It's not easy on her," I reply with some difficulty.

"That's not it," he says, shaking his head. "She's keeping something back."

"She's just trying to protect you." We all are.

"I don't need protecting, I'm a grown man."

"I know that." I smile a little. "It'll make sense someday, don't rush it."

"I have these nightmares," he continues as if I haven't spoken. "I'm in this room and it's dark. There's someone else in there with me. His breath is hot and I can feel it here." He points to the back of his neck and it makes me shiver. "I wake up before anything happens but it terrifies me. Until I know what it means-"

"No," I cut him off, my voice coming out strangled. "No."

"No?" He looks at me in disbelief. He doesn't understand, how could he? I can't be the one to put that weight on him, I can't be the one to tell him.

"I should go."

"Go? What are you talking about?" He immediately intercepts me as I make my way to the door.

"Lasagne takes about forty minutes, the cheese goes on top," I say dully.

"You can't just leave," he splutters. I can see he's working himself up.

"I'm sorry, Brendan. Me being here isn't helping." I feel sick at myself. How can I run from this, knowing what I know? I'm a coward and I hate myself for it. But I can't bear to see the realisation in his eyes. I can't.

"Please," he tries a different tact, his voice lowering in pitch, desperate. "Tell me what it is, tell me."

"Brendan, I can't." My voice cracks.

"Why?" He roars, anger coming thick and fast now.

"Because I love you!" I blurt out, unable to stop myself. "I love you and I can't bear to see you in pain."

He blinks, astonished. "You love me?"

"I have to go."

"Wait!" He moves in front of the door. "I'm sorry, I shouldn't have put you on the spot like that. Just stay and we don't have to talk about it anymore, I'm not sure I even want to now." He laughs nervously.

I look into his eyes, wide and blue, dark eyelashes framing them. God, I love him. It aches in a way it hasn't for a long time.

"Okay," I say, taking a breath. I couldn't leave him like this anyway. What if he remembered the minute I left? I shudder again. Instinctively, he wraps his arms around me, drawing my head to his chest.

We remain that way for some time, breathing each other in. I can feel the steady beat of his heart and it comforts me like it used to.

"Steven?" He says eventually. It comes out barely a whisper.

"Yeah?"

"You really love me?" He sounds wondering, almost pleased.

"Yes." There's no point hiding it.

"Good," he says simply, and I can tell he means it.