Thanks for all of your wonderful feedback. I apologise for the slow updates; I'm not 100% happy with this chap. I'll promise you two more by Sunday.

Brendan looked over at Steven. He had the bed covers pulled halfway up his stomach and he was chewing on his thumb anxiously. He hadn't been so quiet during sex, but he'd certainly muted himself again now. Brendan couldn't help but feel a little uncomfortable in the hush. He'd always hated this silence afterwards. It had been Macca's worst trait; one of his worst traits. It was also something he'd never had to worry about with Steven before.

Like a woman in the kind of clichéd, rom-com, chick-flick Anne sometime made him watch, he heard himself say:

'What are you thinking about?'

Steven turned his head slowly towards Brendan and flashed him a smile that didn't quite reach his eyes. When he spoke, he sounded like he was in a daze but at least he spoke.

'I'm just glad, that you didn't mean what you said,' he explained steadily, 'about being done with me.'

'I'll never be done with you, Steven,' he promised quietly.

Everything was wrong. He knew it. He can feel it every solitary fibre of his being but he refused to acknowledge it.

He blames it on Warren and Walker's incompetence.

He blames in on Jacquie "The Battle-Axe" McQueen and her persistent demands for work to begin on the virtually non-existant flood damage.

He blames it on the fact Warren's Scottish prodigy has taken on the mantel of Blue Zone leader and from nowhere has decided they need better living conditions.

He blames in on Yellow Zone and their endless whining about their out-of-date computers and on Green Zone suddenly beginning protests about the hazards of living near scaffolding.

He even tried to blame it on the Anne-shaped hole burning into his credit card.

But none of that was bothering him as much as it probably should have been and The Estate had been through a cycle of attempted change before. Things always settled down in the end, usually after a story that Brendan had brutally murdered someone was shared around. It wasn't difficult to rule with fear in a place that fed purely on rumours.

In reality there were only three things on his mind; Cheryl's impossible gift, Anne's imminent departure and Steven.

He glanced up at the last of his problems. The boy was just sitting in the corner of his office, twiddling his thumbs … waiting. Brendan was playing Johnny Cash loudly. He was trying to goad the lad, trying to force some kind of reaction from him.

Steven did nothing.

They'd been at this, whatever this messy, guilt-ridden relationship was, for over a week. It wasn't fun, not outside the bedroom. If anything it was depressing and there was an ever-present, dull ache in Brendan's chest that he couldn't get rid of and couldn't translate.

He'd wondered, to begin with, if he was coming down with a virus. Then he thought perhaps it might be guilt, but he knew the feeling of guilt. It all but consumed him every time he tried to pick a gift for Cheryl. It was only as Anne's leaving day loomed ever closer that he began to recognise the dull ache more and more. It was loss.

He'd lost Steven. His Steven. The one who'd intrigued him with his fiery attitude and enthusiasm and anger and independence. Everything that had first interested him, everything that had kept him hooked; it was all gone. Now all that was left was an empty shell. He knew what he had to do, what Anne had told him to do days ago. Didn't she always turn out to be right? His own personal Jiminy Cricket, chirping away in his ear.

He didn't even want to imagine the wreck he'd make of his life once he didn't have her helping to steer at the helm. What kind of mess would he make of the next Blue Zone boy to take his fancy? But a part of his brain, which he wasn't quite listening to, suspected that the next boy wouldn't make Brendan feel as out of control as Steven had. The next boy wouldn't be able to inflict the same kind of pain and wouldn't matter as much.

The next one wouldn't be Steven.

He'd been ready to let his apprehension about Steven go. He could carry his guilt like a good Catholic boy, whilst continuing with the twisted thing they had between them. He wasn't ready to say goodbye, not then.

He was now. He'd finally been pushed over the edge and it had been his conversation last night that had done it.

'It's okay, you know,' Steven had begun quietly. Brendan had expected some kind of variation on the "It's okay when it's just me and you" theme, which had been one of his favourites in the past. But instead Steven had said:

'You don't need to feel guilty. I'm okay with it.'

'With what?'

'With you killing me … once you're done with me, I mean.'

'What!' Brendan had sat up sharply, he almost tipped the boy out of bed. He'd had no idea where Steven had picked up such a sick idea.

'Well, you'll get bored with me, eventually. You know you will.'

'No,' Brendan had promised, and it had felt truthful enough.

'You will though,' the lad had insisted. 'And then, you won't be able to just let me go, I'll know too much or something. You'll have to kill me.'

'I've never hurt any….'

'But I'm telling you that's okay,' Steven had cut him off. 'Because I'd die for this. Die to be with you; die for you, I mean. That's what I was trying to say … I'm okay with this being the last thing I am.'

He'd known, as soon as Steven had turned away and curled up that it was time for things to end. Steven was self-destructive and it had to be over. Besides, Brendan had to prove to himself that he could let a man walk out of his life, that they didn't need to be brutally forced out for some reason.

But as a final goodbye, he'd curled himself around Steven and asked the ever-pressing question:

'What should I get for my sister's birthday?'

They'd talked all night and in the morning, it was all over.

'Take a seat,' Brendan said calmly, pointing to the chair opposite his desk. Steven dropped obediently into the chair, something Brendan was almost accustomed to at this point, and sat waiting patiently for his next instruction.

At least he looked healthier now. Proper sleep and regular meals could do that for a person and Brendan had relented his rules about Steven cooking for The Estate. Now Steven cooked only for them, a private meal for two at Brendan's house while The Estate chowed down on the sludge masquerading as food, which the zones prepared. It was the perfect set up, except that Steven didn't present any more interesting company than one of his sister's ugly garden gnomes.

'I've been thinking,' Brendan said after an uncomfortably long time. He leant forward and clasped his hands together, it was almost like he was proposing a business plan. It was almost emotionless. 'And,' he took a deep breath, 'I've decided you need to leave The Estate.'

'What?' Steven looked panicked. He started panting and clutching his chest and Brendan prayed to God that the boy wasn't going to hyperventilate. He'd have no idea what to do, shove a paper bag over his head? Something like that.

'No. Please. Don't.' The lad was begging, and it was horrible. He lunged forward suddenly, taking Brendan completely by surprise as he grabbed Brendan's hands. 'You can't do this to me. You can't. Please. Please don't do this to me.'

'I'm not doing it to you. I'm doing it for you.' But there was no way Steven could have heard over the sound of his own gasped pleading. There were tears, of course there were tears. This was Steven, the boy who showed every emotion on his face and every sorrow in his eyes.

'What did I do?' he asked, eventually, when he'd gone from hysterical to depressed acceptance. It was barely more than a whisper: 'What did I do wrong?' He wiped his damp cheeks carefully with his shaking sleeve.

'Nothing,' Brendan sighed. 'It was me. I screwed up everything … but you still need to go.' Steven shook his head just slightly, but Brendan knew he was making the right choice. 'Walk out of The Estate, leave this place behind and never look back Steven. Never look back.'

'But….'

'I'll have a taxi pick you up from the end of the road in twenty minutes.'

'But….'

'Go, Steven.' It was Brendan's turn to beg: 'Please.'

And finally, Steven got the message and got slowly to his feet. There were no parting words, no final goodbye. He just walked away from the office and, just as Brendan had requested, he didn't look back.

'Good to see you back, Bren,' Walker commented when Brendan took his place at dinner that evening.

'Don't get used to it,' he sighed. 'I'm going to my sister's tomorrow.'

'Ah the infamous birthday,' Walker nodded. 'Mitzeee's going with you, I take it.'

'Of course, but she's organised transport for the girls, don't worry. You won't have any riots.'

Walker just smiled, which was not a natural face on him. He mostly looked like a baby with a bad case of wind. Brendan just looked down at his plate of food. It looked like crap, it would no doubt taste like crap. Steven's cooking skills would be severely missed on The Estate.

The first thing Mitzeee thought as she approached The Estate to find someone stood on the road waiting was: "Who's annoyed him this time?" It wasn't until she got closer and saw that the figure of Steven that she felt a strange notion of pride wash over her. Finally, her selfish pig of a best friend had done the right thing and severed his hold over the boy. But she couldn't leave it at that, she couldn't just drive past and say nothing. She was too inquisitive, too much of a gossip. So she slowed the car to a stop right next to him and smiled widely:

'Alright kid?'

'Are you my ride?' was his miserable response. He hardly even looked up from his shoes, but Ste was like that now, neck bent in a permanent slouch, head seeming to way half a ton.

'Not unless you're going to Belfast, well not really Belfast but sort of somewhere near Belfast … or something.' She still wasn't entirely sure where Cheryl lived all she knew was: 'It's definitely more boring than Belfast.'

'You visiting Cheryl?' Mitzeee stared in surprise. She wasn't sure what she'd expected him to say, but it hadn't been that.

'You know about Cheryl?' she asked. Macca hadn't even really known about Cheryl. This time last year when she'd driven up to meet Brendan, Macca had complained and asked why he couldn't meet Brendan's parents too. Brendan had nearly killed him on the spot, but Brendan's parents were not a suitable talking point. Dad had been the plague of Brendan's life until he'd died suspiciously not long after The Estate began and it was Brendan's mum's reaction to him coming out, that had forced him so completely into the closet all his life.

'Brendan mentioned her once or twice,' Ste shrugged as though it wasn't confirming the thing she'd always secretly believed: Brendan loves him. But that wasn't really in question, she knew Brendan, she knew that he was in love, the question was, was it mutual.

'Maybe you could help me, I always ask Brendan's boy,' she lied easily.

'I'm not….'

'Close enough,' she dismissed. 'I have to convince Cheryl that I'm in love with Brendan or something. I was thinking, if she asks, what should I tell her?'

'I dunno,' he shrugged. 'Just tell her that he's good to you or something.'

'Good to me,' she frowned; definitely not love then. 'Oh well,' she sighed. 'I guess it's still better than what most people say about him.'

'What do most people say?' he asked, something in him changing. He was on the defensive.

'That he's a manipulative, man who is as ugly inside as he is out and made of pure evil.'

'Well, they're all wrong. They clearly don't know him at all. He's not like that, not really.'

'So what is he like?'

'He's protective,' Ste answered. It was like the words were physically hurting him. 'He looks out for you in a way that makes you know you'll always be safe and when he looks at you, really looks at you, it's like you're the only one in the world who matters, like he'd rather die than be without you. And when he's just being himself, he's interesting and funny and even though he'd never say it, everything he does is to keep other people safe. And sometimes he does bad things but never for a bad reason.' Ste paused for a second, defiance obvious in his eyes as he finally looked up at her and whispered: 'He's not evil.'

Mitzeee swallowed away the lump that had begun forming in her throat and blinked away any possible tears.

'Wow … I think if I tell Cheryl all that, she'll believe I'm in love with Brendan.'

'I'm not in love with Brendan,' he bit back aggressively.

'I didn't say you were,' she gave a smile. It felt weak and laboured, weighed down with the knowledge that on her say so, Brendan was probably throwing away the one man that could possibly have been the love of his life and she, selfish-Mitzeee was just days from the chance of being reunited with her love.

'I'm in love with Rae, m'going to find her.'

She opened her mouth to speak. She wasn't sure what she would have said. Maybe she'd have demanded he go with her, drag him to Brendan's doorway and do something melodramatic like lock them both in the office until….

There was the taxi. She closed her mouth. It was over. So instead of doing something brilliant and melodramatic and full of rom-com clichés, she just smiled softly and said: 'Stay safe, Steven.'

'You too.'

She watched him walk the few metres down the road to the taxi. She actually waited for him to get in to the car and shut the door. She even watched it drive along the long country road towards Dublin. She'd barely had a conversation with the boy before, but watching him go felt painful somehow. It was the hormones. Everything was the hormones. They were turning her into a mess just recently.

'What's happened to you?' Brendan asked the second he saw her. She couldn't fool him at all. It didn't matter that she'd spent twenty minutes touching up her hair and make-up in the car. It didn't matter that she'd painted on her smile. He'd never seen Mitzeee anyway, he always cut straight through and saw Anne.

'Nothing, just something someone said,' she forced a smile and kissed him gently on the cheek. She noticed Walker and Warren behind him and as always they glared back, like they hated her. She wouldn't let that bother her. 'You ready to go?'

'Sure,' he nodded. 'Let me just grab my bag and I'll be with you.'

'Tough day, princess?' Warren snarled as he headed into the house. Walker shoved him through the doorway with a snarled:

'Shut the hell up.'

Brendan just shook his head and followed them in through the house. It was only a few seconds before he was coming back out with a small black sports bag slung over his shoulder and yelling:

'Four days Walker, try not to send anyone to hospital this time.'

She was surprised to see Brendan opened her boot in an attempt to cram his bag in there. He'd be lucky. She had a bigger bag than his just for make-up and hair accessories.

'Where am I supposed to put my stuff?' he demanded.

'Er, in your car,' she scorned. 'Why would we take mine? We never take mine.'

'Walker wants the BMW.'

'Tough,' she shrugged. 'My whole life doesn't fit in the back of my car, Brendan. But some of it will fit in the back of your car, for now – until you ship the rest of it, and my car down to me.'

'No, it's okay,' he sighed. 'I'll just keep my bag on my knees.'

He opened up the passenger door and Mitzeee only just managed to stop her smirk becoming a giggle. The passenger seat was taken up with her enormous suitcase. Well, she was moving to London straight after this weekend.

Brendan just glared up at her, raised an eyebrow and hissed:

'We'll take my car then.'

'I knew you'd see it my way,' she said with a quick swish of her hair. 'Besides, you're never going to convince your sister you're not gay if you turn up in this.'

He glared at her and she grinned. Not just because she knew how angry Warren would be to find that he'd have to use that minivan to get around for the next few days. He was an animal and she'd never have to see him ever again.

They were alone, with nothing but the humming of the BMW's engine to stop the silence, and it was becoming more oppressive by the second. It was clear she had something to say, and this was going to be a painfully long journey before she said it. Brendan knew he wasn't going to like it, and he had a pretty good feeling it would be about Steven because she looked so flaming serious all of a sudden. But he couldn't take this anymore so he said:

'What?'

'Huh?'

'What is it? You're thinking about something.'

'It's noth-'

'Don't tell me it's nothing. I know you Anne,' he warned. 'What are you all moody about?'

'I am not moody,' she protested. It sounded funny in her Mancunian accent and she was flapping indignant arms around in true Mitzeee style. He smiled. She spoilt it though, like he knew she would, by getting all serious and all but whispered: 'I'm concerned.'

'Your car'll be fine.'

'Not the….' She sighed. She was looking out the window and she barely even opened her mouth as she whispered: 'It's Steven.'

'I should have known,' he growled. The truth that he had known would only fuel her crazy obsession with Steven and him.

'I think you made a mistake letting him go.'

'You think I….' He could barely believe the words she was saying. 'You told me to send him away. I didn't want to but you insisted. I listened to you!'

'Don't give me that,' she snapped back. 'Nobody makes the great Brendan Brady do anything. You did it because you agreed with me.'

'But apparently you've changed your mind.'

'Well that was before….'

'Before what?'

'Before I realised he loves you.'

Brendan stopped. He couldn't let her foolish words sink in. He just clenched his teeth together and hissed: 'You're lucky you're pregnant, or I would push you out of the car without stopping.'

'You'd never hurt a woman,' she gave him half a smile. 'And if you start believing he loves you, you'd never hurt Steven again either.'

Brendan just shook his head and wished that the road was more complex. He needed something to distract him from this conversation and the endless gently curving, barely-tarmacked path through the powerful Irish hills wasn't enough.

'It's a risk I can't take,' he whispered.

'No,' she insisted. 'Letting him go is a risk you can't take.'

'Shut up!' he exploded, slamming on the brakes. He didn't know where all this anger was coming from and he didn't know why it was going off like a bomb all of a sudden. This was weeks and weeks and weeks of things going wrong. This was years of stress from The Estate and it was all tipped over by days of imminent loss. 'Just shut up! Letting you go, Anne. Letting you go, that is the risk I'm taking. I don't know how to survive without you and losing you….'

'You're not losing me,' she insisted, but they both knew it was a lie. 'And this isn't about me, it's about him.'

'Aw, you don't know anything.'

But she did, and he knew his face would be betraying him, so he didn't the only thing he knew how. He made her stop looking. 'You're just a wee girl way out of her depth in a world she thinks can be fixed with glitter and sparkles and fake names with stupid spellings. But we pretend, don't we? We pretended for our college friends, we pretended for our university friends, we pretended for people in Manchester, and Dublin and then for everyone on The Estate, we pretend for my sister and for your mother.'

'Don't bring my mother in to this.'

'So how do we know we're not pretending for each other?'

'Brendan,' she gasped. He'd done it. She wasn't looking at him more. She certainly wasn't staring hard enough to see through him.

'So let's pretend one last time for Cheryl,' he put the car back into gear and began to roll forwards when she stopped him.

'No. I'm not going to Cheryl's. Take me back to The Estate, I'm getting my car and I'm going to Dublin, or London, whatever it takes.'

He'd broken her, but that was probably better. A clean break rather than a difficult goodbye and a strained attempt to retain their friendship. He didn't say anything. He just found a farm entrance to turn the car around in and took her back to The Estate.

He carried her suitcases to the car. She was still pregnant after all. He watched her leave, because, despite their break-up, he wouldn't leave her to the mercy of Warren. He wanted to see her leave The Estate safely.

Then he made the car journey to Cheryl's house in Killoug alone. It was still silent, and it was no less oppressive and Brendan wondered if this silence was going to be the soundtrack to the rest of his lonely, lonely life.

Thanks for reading. Update will be Wednesday – though someone might have to remind me on Wednesday. :)

Sisi xx