The rest of our day passes by uneventfully. The boxes are left in the living room, piled in one corner. I can't help myself from glancing over there now and again while the four of us relax and watch television. Every time I do, Steven glances with me, his gaze always settling on my face. He seems tense, his body rigid next to mine. I try to touch him when I can; small grazes against his knee, a brush of our hands.

Towards the end of the evening, after Cheryl and Nate have gone to bed, I switch the television off and turn myself to face him, giving him a hard look.

"What?" He asks warily, shuffling back on the sofa. I push myself closer, eyes intent on his face.

"I don't want to look in the boxes tonight."

I see him visibly relax before he catches himself and attempts to keep his face neutral.

"That's fine."

"Yeah?"

"Why wouldn't it be?"

"Steven," I say levelly.

"Can we go to bed now? I'm dead tired."

For a moment I pause, imagining all the wonderful things we could be doing in bed but then I shake myself. This is more important at the moment.

"I'm gonna look through them tomorrow."

"Okay…" Steven's gaze shifts away from me and I take the opportunity to push myself even closer to him. I rub my fingertips across his pulse, enjoying the way it quickens with my touch.

"You can't protect me from everything," I murmur quietly, looking down at his wrist.

"I can try," he says, sighing. "Try telling yourself this when you remember everything," he adds wryly.

"That bad?"

"Oh yeah."

I smile, looking up at him. "We can go to bed now."

"Good, because this feels far nicer than it should."

"That right?" I move my fingers up his arm, stroking the underside of his elbow.

He shivers a little, goosebumps rising on his skin.

"You cold?" I ask him, my hand moving up to his shoulder and then against his neck, stroking the soft, downy hairs at the back.

"Not really," he says unsteadily.

"Shame, could have warmed you up in bed," I tell him, voice low.

"In that case…" He stands up, taking my hand and tugging me to come with him.

We almost crash into the bedroom door in our haste, lips joined, hands grasping and exploring. Steven pushes me against the wall, taking a deep breath before kissing me again. I have a sudden flash of something and I kiss him harder to try and grasp the memory.

His hands find their way underneath my shirt, stroking my spine. He moans into my mouth, breath hot. I pull us towards the bed and offer a low growl when Steven undresses himself and spreads out before me.

His body is already becoming familiar to me, or perhaps some instinctual part of me remembers what he likes. I ready him with my fingers before lining myself up, loving the way his gaze locks with mine as I enter him.

I take my time with him; enjoying the way he writhes and moans beneath me, desperate for release. I kiss him throughout until he's begging me to go faster, harder. I smile at him, withdrawing just enough to drive him crazy before slamming back inside, making us both shudder with the impact.

We continue until I can tell he's about to come. I take him in my hand and stroke him until his climax spills over. He wraps his legs around my back, moving himself against my cock until the teasing gets too much and I take control and quicken my pace, feeling my orgasm ripple through me.

We lay panting and sweating together afterwards, Steven's head resting on my thigh.

"That was…" he trails off, still catching his breath.

I curl my fingers in his hair, letting them rest there while we recover.

"And you wanted to sleep in separate rooms."

"We still should you know, what if Cheryl goes to check on one of us?"

"She wouldn't do that, would she?"

"She has before." Steven sits up to look at me. "Do you remember that?"

I think very carefully.

"I don't remember Cheryl," I manage to say eventually.

Steven's expression doesn't waver. There's some deeper thought going on behind those eyes but he doesn't offer anything. Instead he positions himself so he's resting against my chest, his back to me.

"Do you remember anything else, since yesterday?"

"I thought something was coming back to me earlier."

"Yeah?" He leans back enough to look up at me.

"The way you kissed me… I dunno, it felt familiar. Must be a pattern there."

"Are you saying we have to keep having sex for you to remember stuff?" He grins up at me impishly.

"Can't hurt." I grin back, but something's troubling me.

He settles back, his head warm and secure against my chest. He crosses his legs in front of him, tracing his fingertips across my forearms, which are wrapped around his middle.

"Do you think it'll all come back to me one day, or I'll remember things now and again?" I ask after a while.

"What do you mean? It's the same thing, innit?"

"Not exactly. Will I get it back in one big hit or will it take years of trying to remember?"

"What would be better do you think?" Steven asks, smoothing his thumb over the back of my hand.

"Well, the first one would be quicker."

"But…"

"It depends what kind of memories I've got," I say, knowing that Steven won't fill in the gaps for me.

"They aren't all bad," he murmurs instead.

"I know that after yesterday." I give him a squeeze.

I see him yawn and I glance at the time.

"Getting late."

"Not sure I can be bothered to go back to my bed."

"Then don't."

"Bren…"

"Come on," I croon, kissing his neck and tightening my grip around his middle. I let my lips linger there, driving him crazy.

"Fuck sake, Brendan."

"Is that a yes?"

"You gonna let me say no?" He turns in my arms, pushing me back against the pillows.

"Of course," I say. "Do you want to say no?" I ask, a little unsure now.

He kisses me then. "Don't be soft." He grins against my mouth. "Not leaving you, am I?"

"Ever?"

He holds my gaze for a moment, suddenly serious.

"I promise."

When I wake up the next morning, there's a space beside me in the bed. I sit up, confused and almost panicked until Steven bursts through the door.

"Not getting rid of me that easy," he teases, placing a tray of breakfast down on the bed.

I'm fixed in place, trapped in the moment between dreaming and waking.

"Am I… dreaming?" I ask tentatively. I don't know what makes me say it, I only know that it's something powerful and beyond my control.

Steven freezes as though afraid to break the spell. I take his wrist, pulling him gently onto the bed with me.

"Don't speak for a minute," I whisper, focusing all of my energy on the jumbled mix of images in my head.

Steven purses his lips together. If the situation was different, I would laugh.

There's too much to take in, too many blank spaces in my head. The memories before felt easier to recover, as though they weren't clouded by something else. I sigh, bowing my head.

"Sorry, Steven."

"So close," he says absently and it makes my chest ache. He comes back to himself after a while, shaking his head as if to clear it. "It's okay, there's still time."

I nod, unable to shake the uneasiness away.

"Come on, eat your breakfast," he says coaxingly. I smell bacon and eggs.

"You didn't have to make me breakfast."

"I said I would, didn't I?" He smiles but it doesn't quite reach his eyes. "I'm gonna take a shower, okay?"

"Without me?"

He grins at me a little easier then. "Another time."

I watch him leave before I start on the breakfast. It gives me a moment to breathe before the day begins. I can already hear Nate and Cheryl moving around the flat and for the first time I consider how crowded things are going to get with the four of us living here. A part of me wants to take Steven somewhere, just the two of us. Another part of me wants to wait until I remember Cheryl. It seems baffling to me that nothing has come back to me of her, my own sister.

Steven reappears wrapped in a towel. His hair is dripping wet and his chest is gleaming. The very few hairs he has are matted down and for a moment I'm distracted, wanting to touch them.

"Steven?"

"Yeah?" He runs another towel through his hair before leaving it to rest on his shoulders.

"Do I have any other family?"

Steven pauses, his hand halfway between unravelling the towel. I curse myself for my timing but this can't be ignored.

"Um," he exhales shakily. "No. Not really."

"No?"

"All dead, far as I know. Except your boys, and Eileen."

"Eileen." I nod; Cheryl's told me about Eileen.

"How did they die?"

"Does it matter?" Steven says sharply. "Sorry," he adds immediately after.

"They weren't good people?" I guess, gently probing Steven for answers.

"No, they weren't." His tone tells me the subject is closed. I wonder if I can get more out of Cheryl.

"Want some help with that?" I ask after a while, gesturing to the towel around his waist.

"Should really get dressed," Steven says, looking sheepish.

"Do you have to?" I go to him, wrapping my arms around him.

"Cheryl will be wondering where we are," he protests. I snake my hand in his hair, tugging him towards me for a kiss.

"She'll survive," I murmur, my other hand resting on his arse. I give him a squeeze.

"Brendan? Ste?" Cheryl knocks on the door. I groan, pulling my lips away from his.

"Later then," I tell him and he smiles.

Cheryl's already began unpacking some of the boxes by the time we're both dressed.

"There's some of my stuff in here too," she says. "Didn't want to take it all to Ireland with me."

"I'll help," Steven offers, taking his place beside her on the floor, cross-legged.

"I'll be back in a bit," Nate says, putting his coat on.

"You got the shopping list?" Cheryl asks, reaching up for a quick kiss.

"I've got it. Enough to feed a small army, mind."

Cheryl beams at me. "I didn't know which of your favourites you'd still like so I put all of them down."

"You didn't have to do that," I say, taking a seat on the sofa.

She shrugs. "Least I can do," she mutters, to my confusion. Steven looks away, troubled.

Once Nate is gone, I broach the family subject with Cheryl. She goes white as a sheet, saying the bare minimum as Steven had done. I sigh, frustrated. I'll have to find things out for myself then.

While the two of them busy themselves in sorting through the boxes, Steven nudging Cheryl whenever he finds some garish item of clothing belonging to her, I do my own digging. There's a box marked family albums and I fish one out, away from their line of sight.

The first album holds mostly baby pictures. I see myself, red-faced and screaming for the camera. My mother holds me with pride, all dark curls and bright eyes. There are various pictures of me growing up as a toddler; first birthday, first swimming lesson, my early years. The later pictures include Cheryl. I can't find any baby pictures of her; only ones of her older, blonde curls already prominent. There's an interesting photo of the two of us at what appears to be her birthday party. She has her arms wrapped tightly around my neck, grinning at the camera. I'm looking off into the distance, distracted.

Something about the picture makes me pause and I can't put my finger on it. I think hard, trying to place the memory. I look through the other photos of Cheryl and something begins to click. I remember that young girl with the infectious laugh and the bouncing hair. I remember how she'd follow me around and cry when I had to leave. I look at the woman in front of me and a fondness begins to warm my belly. Something's coming back to me, not quite a slideshow of our life together but a definite familiarity, a loving and protective bond.

I smile, about to open my mouth and tell her and Steven this new development until something else in the picture of us catches my eye. A man, standing in the background, cast in shadow. He's not looking at the camera, he's looking at me.

I feel a cold dread settle around me, and with shaking fingers I take the picture out of the album, turning it over to read the elegant script on the back.

Brendan and Cheryl, Cheryl's birthday party. With Seamus.

Seamus.

The first thought that comes to me is: Who took this picture? As if I've known it all along, I consider the fact that Cheryl wasn't always with me, that my mother wasn't her mother. I remember this day, I remember other days like it.

Seamus.

Distantly, I hear a voice but it comes to me as if I'm underwater. The voice becomes more persistent the longer I ignore it. The picture slips from my hand and falls to the floor.

Someone has their hands on me, trying to bring me back to reality. It takes a while for me to realise it's Steven. Something in his voice pulls me to him, only slightly.

"Brendan!" He calls again. "Cheryl, do something!"

"I thought I got rid of all the pictures," Cheryl says, her voice shaky and agonised.

"It's too late for that now, come on!"

Steven pulls me back to the sofa, forcing me to sit down. He kneels in front of me, allows his hands to hover over mine. Not touching. No touching. No.

"Bren?" He asks hesitantly, like I'm a startled animal about to bolt.

I wet my lips, willing myself to speak. I find that I can't. Something's pulling me under, something impossible to break free of. I'm not reliving it, I tell myself that. It's there, that awareness. It's always been there.

"Brendan?" Steven asks again, growing more anxious by the second. I notice absently that his hands are shaking. Then I realise mine are too. "Can I…?" he trails off, unsure how to comfort, whether he should or not.

Hesitantly I reach for him, just one finger. I lay it across the back of his hand, feel his warm skin and allow it to ground me. It's all I can manage right now.

"Should I call an ambulance?" Cheryl asks frantically.

"No," Steven says, turning to her and sounding more calm, like he's taking control. "Sit down, Cheryl. You'll keel over."

"Oh god, oh god," she whispers, hands covering her face, doing as he says.

He turns back to me. "Can you talk, Brendan?"

Silently, I shake my head.

"Okay. Do you want us to stay here?"

I nod, moving my finger across his hand.

"Alright." He comes to sit beside me, our bodies distant, no part of us touching. I don't know whether I want them to or not. I can't think.

I hear some movement, and out of the corner of my eye I see Cheryl bending down to retrieve the picture. I hear her begin to rip it.

"Don't," I say, my voice sounding inhuman. She turns to me, her eyes wet with tears. "Cheryl," I croak, and I move my arm, just an inch. She rushes towards me, clutching my arm with all her strength.

"Brendan," she sobs. "I'm so sorry."

I shake my head, I'm not quite there yet. There's a lot to process.

We remain that way for an indeterminable amount of time. Cheryl, sobbing quietly and never letting go of my arm. Steven, a warm, constant presence beside me. I'm not in the room with them, I'm somewhere far away, somewhere dark and difficult and filled with my nightmares. I'm remembering.