Dear Brendan,

I feel stupid writing this down. I've never written this kind of letter before. You should have seen how many drafts I've done, how many times I've scribbled out words and torn the paper up, because everything I've written doesn't seem good enough, right enough.

It seems stupid, doesn't it? Condensing an entire relationship down into a letter, trying to explain how you feel about someone just using a paper and pen. Especially as I'll never send this to you.

I guess it's my form of a diary, which sounds rather pathetic when you put it into those words. I always thought they were pointless things, filled with what boy looked at you that day, which friend you argued with. I found Amy's years ago, and couldn't resist a glance through it. It was filled with thoughts of me, back when there were things to write, and Michaela popping up in every page, either as an enemy or as some second sister.

I don't know why I'm telling you this. Even in letter form I can't seem to help talking about everything except the thing I most need to say.

I'm leaving soon, for America. Tomorrow in fact, as you know. The kids are dead excited about it, their suitcases all packed. They've seen adverts for Disneyland on the telly lately and have begged me and Amy to take them. But something stopped me. Noah, I told myself. Being with him, not wanting to leave him for weeks on end. My job, the money.

Have you learnt by now that I'm an expert liar? Sometimes I think I could do it in my sleep. But then again, you know a thing or two about lying yourself, don't you?

It's quite amazing, the things I've managed to convince myself of these last few months. Ever since you hit me in Chez Chez really, after Pete came. From that moment on I told myself I didn't need you. When you said I'd come back to you, it was like being punched in the face all over again, like rubbing salt in an already opened wound. You weren't you in that moment, were you? You were moving, and speaking, and breathing, but your eyes...it was like they were closed off. Black, dead. Nothing coming through. I still wonder if you know how it felt, hearing those words. That I'd always come back to you, because I always do. Like I was no longer my own person, with my own choices and actions and mind, but just your puppet, your string constantly leading me, twisting me, bringing me back to you.

So I gave up. I gave up on us, and everything that came with it. I forced myself to forget about the good times, and only remember the bad. But mostly I tried to forget that you ever existed to me as someone who was important.

And then you kissed me. After I'd found out you'd killed someone, after I'd put you in the hospital, after you'd left. You came back, and kissed me. In front of everyone. And that was all it took. That one moment, to make me question how I'd ever thought I could live without you. I knew I was being weak, forgetting why I couldn't go back in the first place. But it's hard. I had never believed in dreams before, almost as a rule, but that moment was the exception to that rule. It was like getting everything I'd ever wanted. Like you were telling everyone that I was yours, that you were mine, that you were proud of me. I think that's what mattered to me the most really, that I was no longer someone for you to be ashamed of. I thought maybe you had finally seen me the way I saw you. Because when you were just you, no front, no armour...yeah, I was proud of you. The kind of proud where I wanted to tell everyone that I was with you, that you were my boyfriend. Because to me, you were wonderful.

I should have guessed, from the way you were behaving. The way you were in your flat, after I knocked and you opened up - there was something deeply wrong, I knew it. It was like you were everywhere in that room, unable to stay still, unable to stop your body humming, like you couldn't believe what you had just done. It was your version of a warning sign I guess. Your way of somehow telling me that I should get out, that you would fuck me and then hurt me, because you weren't capable of just the one in that moment. It's the way you do things, isn't it? A kiss and a punch, as if they're interlinked in your mind, so little space between them.

The thing is though, when you kiss me, I feel like I'm drowning. And I can try to fight against the tide as much as I want, but it pulls me under, swallows me whole. And it won't let go. It's not cold though, it's not like I imagine drowning to be. It's warm, and the pressure fills me like nothing else. So when you pushed your tongue into my mouth, and pulled my hoddie off me, and led me towards your bedroom, I knew I didn't have a hope in hell of saying no, of turning back. Wanting you is always so much stronger than not wanting to want you.

As you hit me, as your fists made contact with my ribs, my face, my stomach, I didn't even fight back, didn't even try. I remember covering my body with my hands, attempting to shield it from you, but there's no point really, is there? Your eyes were gone again. I remember that feeling. Wanting to beat the love out of a person, because you hate yourself. It used to feel alien to me, that someone cared. After Terry and Pauline, I never believed that someone could. When Amy came along, I couldn't understand why she looked at me like I was capable of being a good person. I don't know exactly why you do the things you do. But maybe you recognised that in my eyes. Love. And love for you is dangerous, isn't it? Painful. Maybe Eileen coming straight after you told me how you felt confirmed that in your mind. You tell me how you feel, and you lose everything. That fantasy of your wife being what you want, of seeing you as 'normal.' Your kids, who you thought would be taken away from you.

You still had me, though.

But I don't think that was enough.

I know you won't come with me tomorrow. I'll wait at the Jubilee Gardens at noon, like I told you. I'll look at my watch and glance around the village, waiting for you. Sometimes I think I'll always be waiting for you.

I'm writing this letter because I have to say goodbye to you. You're not ready. I think you do want me, in your own way. Sometimes I think you have the same feelings as me, about us, about the future we could have. But then someone else steps into the frame - wives, girlfriends, boyfriends. I used to think it was alright when it was just you and me, but...well, it's not really, is it? Even when we're alone, you can't handle what you want.

For me, people, time, distance...it doesn't change anything. I love you, Brendan. I think I loved you from that first time you kissed me in the cellar at Chez Chez, and nothing has been able to shake that. That's why I avoided taking the kids to Disneyland these past few months. Because I didn't want to leave you. See what I mean about me being a good liar, of pretending that I hated you?

It kills me when I think how happy we could be. If things were different, we could be on a plane together this time tomorrow, us and our kids. We'd go on the rides, me turning green from sickness, you putting me to bed and looking after Declan, Leah and Lucas. Then when I'd feel better, we'd make up for lost time. We've lost a lot of time, haven't we? Days, weeks and months spent arguing and crying and pretending to hate each other when we could have just been together. I know we'd never have been perfect. Life's not perfect, is it? It's messy, complicated. But I think I would have been able to deal with that, if you'd been by my side.

When I come back, things won't be like they were. I can't go back, I can't keep on being around you and hoping for things that will never come. I'm going to start looking for another job. Being with you every day, remembering what I've given up would be a form of torture. I have to move on, Brendan. I need to tell myself that I don't want you any more, and try to mean it. Otherwise this will never end.

But then, it will never end either way, will it? I have to write this down here, because there's no one else I can talk to. Amy doesn't see what I see in you, she never could. Maybe it's easier for her to hate you instead of still hating me for what I did to her, I don't know. I just know that I'll never have this again, what we have. With anyone. Noah didn't even come close, and I don't see anyone ever making me feel the way you did. That kind of happiness, when we were happy...it's not something that can be equaled.

I could never say this to you in reality. You'd probably laugh in my face. Accuse me of being sentimental, of demanding things of you. But I'm not demanding anything. I just need to tell you.

You are the love of my life. It sounds soft, doesn't it? Twenty one, and I think I've found 'the one', whatever that means. It's not really something I can put into words, although I've tried in this letter. Mitzeee once asked me why I like you. The answer I gave her remains the same. The real Brendan protects the people he loves. He'd do anything for them. That's the man I fell in love with.

That's the reason why I can never completely let you go, why in sixty years time I'll still remember you, still be trying to force you to the back of my mind, even when you're at the front. It's why when I wait for you tomorrow, even though part of me knows you won't come, part of me wants to believe you will.

I'm not ready to say goodbye. But I have to.

Ste.

Doug had read the letter three times. Fast at first, because the words felt like they were burning into his skin, physically hurting him. Slower the second time, just to make sure that what he was reading was real. The third time he took his time over every letter, every word of love and longing and pain.

He never meant to find it. He had come round to the flat to find a jumper he had left at Ste's the other night. Amy had let him in, told him he was free to have a look around, that Ste wouldn't mind. Going into his boyfriend's bedroom, he had looked around affectionately at the mess, the socks lying on the carpet, drawings that the kids had done for him lying scattered on his drawers.

He knew it must be there somewhere. He'd spent the night there, and Ste had seemed in a rush the next morning, wanting them to get to Carter & Hay. Doug couldn't understand why he was being so uptight. The deli was doing well. More than well. They'd built up a nice stream of regular customers, and their popularity continued to spread through word of mouth. They could afford to spend the morning in bed if they wanted to. But Ste had been insistent. They shouldn't be cocky, and think that their standards could start to slide. Before Doug knew it, he had been ushered out of the flat, barely having time to put on his shoes.

Not seeing it on the floor or put alongside Ste's own clothes, Doug had sat on the bed and reached his hand into the small gap in between it and the wall, trying to feel if it had slipped there unnoticed. When his fingers didn't brush against the knitted material, he looked down at the barest hint of carpet that lay there. That's when he saw it. A box.

It was unremarkable in its presentation. Small, brown, squared. Nothing particularly special about it. What was special to Doug was the contents.

It was his own photo that he was staring down at. He couldn't see much, but the idea that Ste had a picture of him was enough for him to shift the bed, to reach down and take hold of the box, desperate to see more. He and Ste had been...off, lately. He couldn't put his finger on it, couldn't say for definite what it was. They still slept together. They still held hands, and went out to bars, the cinema, trips with the kids. They still said I love you. Doug knew there was nothing that should alarm him. But...there was something wrong. Like Ste was holding a part of himself back, in a way he never had before. It had always been Doug who had been unsure, wondering whether he could have that kind of public relationship, where everyone and their mother knew he was having sex with a man. The thought of sleeping with Ste for the first time had terrified him. All he'd ever known were woman's bodies. Their soft breasts, their hairless skin. The way he would contract inside them. Suddenly he was having to face a completely unexpected, ambiguous world, where he didn't know what his role was. Noah had never talked to him about Ste. The only clue Doug got about their relationship status was whether Noah was in a good mood or not.

And then there was Brendan. Everyone had heard the rumours, but Doug had never known how serious they had been until he and Ste started working together. What he thought was some fling on both of their parts was suddenly revealed to be this obsession. It had shocked him, seeing Brendan wanting something so much. Doug had assumed that Ste was a meaningless fuck to him, something to make life interesting. Not someone permanent.

One look at Brendan, at the way he was with Ste, and Doug had been sure. Brendan was in charge, in every sense of the word. It had presented more questions than answers. How was he meant to compete with that? Did Ste like it like that all the time, being the...what was it that people called it? - bottom? Or did they give and take? Doug remembered how complicated relationships had seemed to him before. Him and Bex. Him and Lynsey, when he thought that that was a possibility until his feelings for Ste had overtaken him. He sometimes wanted to go back and enjoy that time, when he knew what he was doing, when he didn't have to worry about having some psycho ex on his hands. If he had thought that Brendan was dangerous when he had been dealing drugs for him, he had had no idea what was to come when he had taken something precious from him.

Seeing that photo of himself and Ste made Doug's heartbeat increase rapidly, but strangely made him feel calm at the same time. Perhaps Ste was just tired lately, and that's why he'd been distant. He knew it must be hard on him, having two young children, working all day, and still making time to see him in the evenings, away from the deli. It was things like this that were important ultimately, right? Keeping a picture of them smiling, their arms around each other. He thought of the similar one that he kept in his bedroom, the one Ste had given him, framed.

Doug had known that he should put the box back. Ste had once told him that they should share everything together, but Doug was sure that didn't extend to personal items which had been hidden under beds. He had felt his fingers twitch though, and the desire to have access to this personal part of Ste's life that he had felt closed off to moments before overwhelmed him. He wondered what else he'd find in there. More photos? Things that reminded Ste of him?

Making sure that the door was closed and perching near it to avoid being surprised by Amy if she came in, Doug had taken the box's contents out and searched through them eagerly.

His heart continued to beat at what felt like an alarming pace, but for an entirely different reason this time. He felt sick, and had to go from leaning on his heels to sitting down on the carpet to try to stop the spinning sensation.

The box was filled with photo after photo of Ste and Brendan. Nearly all were club promotional shots, where they were surrounded by Cheryl, Rhys and Jacqui. In many cases they weren't even standing near each other. Brendan often had his arm around his sister, and Ste would be standing in the background, a goofy smile plastered on his face. Doug assumed they must have been taken around the time when Cheryl and Brendan first took over Chez Chez, and Cheryl was desperately trying to put on a show of unity. Doug vaguely remembered seeing some of these very photos being dotted around the walls of the club, until they'd one day gone missing.

There was another picture that stuck out though, different from the others. It was slightly blurred, and torn at the edges, as if someone had tried to rip it up. Doug could make out the features though. There was no mistaking the face that stared back at him, but it was a shock seeing it all the same. Mainly because he looked happy.

Brendan looked like was just putting on a shirt, and the camera had caught him. The barest hint of a hairy stomach showed through, and he held a hand up to the camera, as if trying to block it. His expression was carefree though, more carefree than Doug had ever seen him in his life. The belt on his trousers was unbuckled, and he was looking at the person who was taking the photo with a mixture of frustration and amusement. And an unmistakable look of familiarity and fondness.

Doug was under no allusions. This was the kind of photo that you take when you've just been with someone, when they've woken up next to you, when they wash off the signs of sex, the smells, the cum, the sweat. Getting dressed, going off into the outside world, but you're not ready to let go of them completely. He wondered how often Ste looked at it. The box had no dust covering it. It looked slightly battered from use, as if someone's hands had handled it on a regular basis. Did Ste get it out every night, when he went to bed? Is that what he was doing, when he wasn't with him? Wanking over Brendan fucking Brady?

The photo dropped from Doug's hand. Brendan's smile had somehow twisted into a leer the longer he looked at it, as if he was tormenting him, telling him that he'd always be there, always do everything better, always be in Ste's heart.

Doug needed something to hold onto, something which would tell him that he was wrong. Perhaps he was overreacting. It had been years ago after all. Ste had his old hair colour, and the sides weren't shaven. Brendan's moustache was shorter, and his body was leaner. Perhaps Ste had kept them by accident, meaning to throw them out but always forgetting.

Searching to the bottom of the box, he had been relieved to find only pieces of paper remaining. Opening one up, he expected to find a child's scrawl on them, in the form of Leah or Lucas's letters to him.

He wasn't completely wrong. The writing was untidy, littered with spelling mistakes. But from the very first word he knew that what he was reading was a letter from his boyfriend, one which wasn't addressed to him. A love letter. Perhaps not one in the traditional sense, but then again, he didn't suppose anything was traditional or conventional about Ste and Brendan.

Gripping the edges of the paper in his hands, Doug read on.

Ste had spent the last half an hour trying not to look at him. So far he was failing.

Badly.

He used to think that it was only when Brendan was trying to provoke that he was drawn to him. How was he supposed to look away when Brendan had looked at him the way he used to, like he'd fuck him against a countertop at any moment? It was...distracting.

But now there was no excuse. Brendan was merely reading a newspaper in Cater and Hay, eating a cheese and ham panini, his favourite. Aside from the odd glance at Ste under his eyes, he had barely even looked at him, which was exactly what Ste had asked for.

"Sorry Brendan, I really have to clean up in the kitchen, it's a right tip."

He hadn't known why he felt like he'd had to apologise. It unnerved him. He didn't owe Brendan anything, after all. No chit chat, no small talk. It was his deli, under his full control. Brendan stopped in for lunch, not for some heart to heart.

But it had become a bit of a routine with them. Every Wednesday when Doug left early to help babysit the kids when Amy worked late at College Coffee, Brendan would appear. Ste had never told him that it was just him there for a couple of hours, but he had seemed to work it out, and whereas at the start he would glance around the deli, as if expecting Doug to pop out from behind the door at any moment, he had gradually begun to relax. After his order had arrived, he'd rest his back against his seat, and devour the food, sauce and cheese often falling all over his mouth. He'd caught Ste looking once and smiled, before Ste had turned his back, unable to stop the blush rising to his cheeks.

Ste had never told Doug about this time they spent together. He wasn't doing anything wrong, surely? Brendan was only visiting his place of business. He was a customer, he paid unlike in the early days, and there was never any trouble.

Ste still hadn't decided whether that was a good thing or not. He'd grown so used to disliking Brendan, of wanting to escape from him, of turning around whenever he saw him approach, of making snide remarks as a form of protection, that he didn't know what to do with this new version of him.

It had started when Brendan had returned from Ireland. Ste had seen him leave, waiting for a taxi with his suitcases, Cheryl and Joel standing beside him. He'd been with Doug at the time, and had taken hold of his hand more firmly.

"Looks like he's leaving, Ste."

"Yeah."

"If only it was for good."

Ste had felt a twist in his stomach at his words. Brendan leaving would uncomplicate matters, that was for sure. He and Doug would be free to get on with life in peace.

If only he could silence the voice that said that his world wouldn't be the same without Brendan in it.

They had been gone for two months.

Ste hadn't understood what could possibly be that important, for them to close the club in all that time, to lose profit and for Cheryl to take time out from her University course. Ste had passed Theresa on the street on several occasions and asked for word on Joel every time.

"Don't you two hate each other?"

Only every other day...

"Nah, he's alright. He comes into the deli sometimes as well. Don't want to lose a customer for too long."

She hadn't looked convinced.

"He's texted me saying that they're going to be a bit longer."

"Longer? What are they doing over there?"

He had said it before he could stop himself. A ramble of words, coming out like vomit.

"I don't know, stuff."

She had frowned at him.

"Are you alright, Ste?"

He had brushed her off then, unable to answer any of her questions. He wasn't entirely sure why he was asking them to begin with.

He had slowly prepared himself for the possibility that Brendan wasn't ever going to come back. Maybe he thought he had nothing left for him here. Ste wondered how long it would take for him to find a new boy to play with, and the thought shocked him - the thought that he would still care so much.

He had begun to commit more to Doug, realising that that's where his future lay. He gave him a set of keys to the flat, and began to invite him over for the night on a regular basis. He introduced him properly to the kids as "daddy's boyfriend", leading to an embarrassing moment when Leah had asked what happened to 'the man with the hair', and Ste had realised that his kids were far smarter and more perceptive than he gave them credit for.

There were no more hostile remarks towards Doug, no more of Brendan controlling him, of entering the flat whenever he wanted. The game had ended.

And then he came back.

Ste had stopped in his tracks when he saw him. He'd been on his own, so Ste guessed that he must have arrived a few hours ago, Cheryl and Joel possibly already unpacking as he reacquainted himself with the village.

He was wearing a white shirt, and it clung to him wonderfully, emphasising his muscles, showing the smallest glimpse of his dark chest hair. Ste expected this. Brendan always looked amazing. He remembered when he gradually realised he wanted him in that way, after he kissed him in his flat for the first time. When he knew for sure that Brendan wanted him back, the world had seemed alive with possibilities, the chance of them happening. Brendan had transformed from Ste's intimidating, frightening boss to someone who Ste wanted to fuck, and love. Both at the same time, preferably. Ste's days had then be consumed with thinking of the best way to get Brendan away from the customers and into the toilets. He imagined telling Brendan exactly what he wanted.

Hand job. Blow job. You fingering me. You being inside me. Me riding you. You screaming my name.

He'd had to shake himself, because he hadn't known when he'd started thinking these things. He'd enjoyed sex with Amy and Rae. It had been sweet, fun. Hot even. But nothing like this. With Brendan he wanted to lie beside him and pepper him with kisses and be held by him. He also wanted, needed to be pushed and pulled and rubbed and pounding into in all the right places. He had never desired someone so much.

So wanting Brendan Brady? Yeah, he was used to that. It followed him around wherever he went.

But what he didn't expect was to be wanted right back. He'd lived with Brendan looking at him like he was some sort of possession for a long time, something he could take out of his wrapping paper when he was bored, and dispose of when Ste acted out of turn.

The way Brendan was looking at him then was the opposite of possession.

Glancing from his face down to his lower body, Brendan moved towards him, as mesmerising as ever. Ste felt as though his Adam's apple was growing to improbable lengths, as if the sheer passion of Brendan's actions were making him more of a man.

"Steven." He said it softly, in that rough, deep voice that no one could ever copy, ever improve upon.

"You're back, then?"

"Looks like it."

There had been silence then. Ste was desperate to fill it, because he couldn't breathe while Brendan was looking at him like that, like he'd just arrived home in more ways than one.

"How's Cheryl?"

"Fine."

Ste couldn't understand why he wasn't saying anything. No quips, no bravado. Just blue eyes staring at him, the corners of his mouth turned up. Not a smirk, but a smile. One he felt like he'd last seen in a distant lifetime.

"And you...are you fine?"

He shouldn't care, and had done everything not to care ever since Brendan came out of prison.

But the way Brendan was behaving wasn't right. In the sense that for once, there was nothing wrong with it.

Brendan blinked.

"Me? Yeah." He looked like he was considering something for a moment. "I will be, I think."

Ste nodded, pretending that he understood, when really he felt like he was searching for something in the dark.

"How are you, Steven?"

Ste couldn't remember the last time Brendan had asked him how he was. He almost wondered if it was some sort of trick question.

"I'm okay."

"Business going well?"

"Yeah. Me and Doug have barely stopped running around."

He thought he saw a flash of something in Brendan's eyes at the mention of Doug.

Before he could be sure, it was gone.

"You've done really well with it. Carter and Hay."

Oh here we go, Ste had thought.

Is he going to say he's surprised now, like he never expected it from me?

"I always knew you could do it."

The retaliation died on Ste's lips.

"You were always the best barman at the club. One of the best staff I've ever hired. The customers liked you, you always finished the work I set you to do. I should have known it would only be a matter of time before you left for something better."

For once, Ste had no clever comeback.

"Thanks."

Brendan nodded once, still with that same strange smile.

"See you."

Ste almost wanted to wave, just to do something with his hands. Anything to distract himself from how he was feeling.

Instead he watched as Brendan moved past him, his shirt lightly brushing against Ste's polo top. Ste immediately took a step backwards, as if he had been burned.

He didn't want Brendan anywhere near him. He'd fought long and hard to do everything to make Brendan relinquish control over him. Scamming him out of the deli. Publicly kissing Doug, making it clear that they were together, happy, a unit. He couldn't go back to that place where he let himself have hope again. It was too exhausting.

And yet...

He heard the force of something land on the counter with a smack.

Turning, he saw Doug standing in front of him, his eyes sparkling with tears.

Placed on the counter was his box. The box he kept under his bed, the box that he looked at with increasing frequency now, that he knew that he should throw away, but couldn't.

The photo of himself and Doug that he kept at the front was gone, and Ste saw the others, the contents of which he'd perfected to memory.

And the letter.

"Doug."

"Were you ever going to tell me, then?"

Ste noticed Brendan rising from his seat from the corner of his eye.

He could imagine how bad this must look to Doug. Finding those things, and then finding him with Brendan of all people.

"We should go somewhere private."

"No, lets not! What's the point anyway? He's always here, isn't he? If not in person than in your mind."

Ste glanced at Brendan, expecting to see him smiling in satisfaction, thinking that he'd won. But he was staring at him in concern, his forehead creased.

"Doug, I really don't think we should -"

"Why have you kept this stuff?"

"Why were you looking through it?"

"I left something at your place the other night. I was looking for it, and stupidly thought that as my photo was the first thing in that box, it might actually mean that I meant something to you."

"You do!" Ste could feel his palms begin to grow clammy.

I can't lose him. I can't. I don't know what's on the other side if I'm not with him.

"Then why did you keep this letter? Why did you write it?"

"What letter?" Brendan came over to the counter, his eyes falling across the box.

He stared at the photo that lay on the top. The one Ste took after Brendan fucked him on his bed.

Ste remembered how Brendan had tried to make a desperate grab for the camera, looking flustered.

"Steven, give that to me!"

He had laughed, feeling light and sated and sore in all the right places. Somehow complete again. He had jumped on the bed, keeping it out of Brendan's reach.

"You'll have to say please."

He knew he was probably pushing his luck, but he hadn't felt this satisfied in weeks.

"I mean it, if you show that to anyone..."

That had stung a bit. Is that what Brendan thought, that he'd use it against him as some kind of evidence, out him to the village?Yes, he wanted to split up with Rae and be with him. Yes, he wanted people to know about them. But he would never...he couldn't hurt Brendan like that.

"I'm not going to do that, am I? I just want to keep it. Please."

Brendan had raised his eyebrows at that, and climbed up to the bed. Backing Ste against the wall, he had placed his hands either side of him.

"Oh yeah? And why do you want that? What are you going to do with it?" His breath was warm and sweet against Ste's face.

Ste had swallowed. He hadn't meant...that, exactly. He just wanted to have a part of Brendan that belonged to him, something to keep when they weren't together.

But now that the idea was in his mind...

"What would you like me to do?"

Brendan had cocked his head to the side, his pupils dark.

"Do you like imagining me touching myself?" Ste lowered his voice.

"I don't have to imagine it. I've seen it." Brendan's breath was coming hard and fast.

"It makes you hard, doesn't it?"

Ste moved his hand to grasp Brendan's erect cock, stroking it through his trousers.

Brendan batted his hand away. Ste had looked at him, confused and unsure at the rejection.

In one fluid motion, Brendan had pulled down his trousers, giving Ste better access. Ste's eyes ran over Brendan's dark pubic hairs, his mouth beginning to moisten.

Brendan had taken hold of Ste's hand and guided it towards his cock, setting the pace. When Ste was stroking him the way he liked, he loosened his grip and then let go completely, leaning his head into the crook of Ste's shoulder, panting into the smooth flesh there.

Every time Ste had looked at that photo since then, he had been reminded of that moment. It never took him long to get hard after that.

"You kept this?"

Brendan looked across the counter at Ste, his eyes scorching.

"Don't look at him like that!" Doug's tears were coming thick and fast now, but the anger remained, something Ste had never seen before in him.

He tried to reach out to him, to comfort him, but Doug moved out of his reach, shaking his head furiously.

"Don't touch me."

"Doug, I don't understand why you're being like this. I wrote that letter more than a year ago. I barely even knew you then."

"It's not just the letter though, is it? Or the photos. It's the way you've been with me lately. It's not been the same."

Ste wanted to argue against it. He'd tried so hard to smile and laugh around Doug, to make his body shudder with need every night, to lie wrapped in his arms in the morning, to act as if nothing had changed.

Doug would never hurt him, and he needed that.

Brendan would always be a risk. Whatever version of him he'd be faced with. The old Brendan, the one who inflicted an equal measure of pleasure and pain. Or this new Brendan, the one who gave a damn about him, who looked at him like he was the centre of his universe, who respected him, who actually listened to him.

It was still a step into the unknown either way, and Ste felt tired. Like he'd lived for eighty years instead of twenty two. He didn't want to fight anymore. Sometimes he just wanted to rewind, go back to when things were simpler, when he and Brendan were just starting out, working out what they could do for each other, what this thing they had meant.

He wished he had just been honest back then.

"I love you. I'm sick of arguing with you, with being hurt. Let's just stop this, yeah? You can get help, and I'll be there. Every step of the way. I won't leave you, I promise. But lets just be together."

He wished even more that Brendan had said yes. And sealed it with a kiss.

"Why him?" Doug asked. "Why him over me?"

"I haven't...I'm not..." Ste looked from Brendan to Doug, wanting this all to be some sick, twisted joke. He wasn't ready to choose.

"Me and Brendan aren't together. We don't feel that way about each other anymore."

"That's not entirely true, Steven. I do feel that way about you."

Shut up, please shut up. Why do you always have to say exactly what I wanted you to say, when I don't want to hear it anymore?

Doug laughed through his tears. It was hollow and loud, and seemed to echo around the room.

"So this is your big love declaration is it, Brendan? This is you telling him you want him."

Brendan's eyes never left Ste's face.

"Yes. I want him. I love him."

Doug looked from Brendan to Ste, incredulous.

"And this is what you want, is it? To be with someone who beat the shit out of you? Who followed us around for months, who brought the deli and your flat just so he could control you? Who is never happy unless he's robbing you of every last shred of respect you have for yourself?"

"That's really none of your business Douglas, is it now?"

Brendan stood an inch away from Doug's face, and Ste could hear how he was trying to calm himself, taking deep breaths and struggling to control his fists.

"I love him. He's my boyfriend. Of course it's my business."

"Love? You think you can talk to me about love? You have no idea what me and Steven have been through. What I've done for him, what he's done for me. Love isn't loneliness, Douglas. It's not needing someone, it's not clinging onto them for dear life just so you can be one half of a couple. Love is doing anything for that person, protecting them, giving up your life for theirs if you have to."

Ste felt like he had been holding his breath every since Brendan had begun speaking. His chest felt tight, and he had the sensation of his skin buzzing, every one of his senses alive. It was as if Brendan's words strangled him and set him free at the same time.

But there remained the distant echo of Doug's words. Someone who beat the shit out of you. The force of Brendan's violence still lived in his mind. That first time in the cellar, when Brendan had told him he disgusted him. The way Brendan had left him cowering on the floor in the Chez Chez bathroom, bleeding from the lip, tears springing in his eyes. The way Brendan had come to his flat after Declan left, punching him in the ribs, cradling his head in his hands as Ste leaned on him in his weakened state, as if they'd been embracing instead of fighting.

I can't go back to that. I can't.

"Please go. Both of you."

Ste had expected an argument, perhaps Brendan making some last threatening attempt towards Doug. But he looked oddly defeated, and Ste realised that he hadn't seen that side of Brendan in a long time. Cocky, bitter, aggressive, insincere, yes. Then strangely kinder, jokier, more at ease with himself when he returned from Ireland. But not like this, where the fire had gone out.

Doug was the first to leave. He glanced down at the box once more, hesitating, before he seemed to reach a decision within himself. He walked out quickly without a backwards glance.

Brendan acted like he hadn't noticed anything. Where before teasing Doug, remarking on his appearance and his relationship with Ste had seemed like a favourtie past time to him, he was now looking at Ste like they were the only two people in the world.

"Please, Brendan. I need time to think."

"How much time?"

"Does it really matter?"

"Of course it matters, Steven. When you want to start a life with someone, you don't want to wait."

Brendan hadn't been able to sleep for a long time. He got a few hours here and there, but he'd often find himself lying awake in bed at three o'clock in the morning, his mind unable to settle. He'd experienced this in prison, where he'd had recurring images of Steven buzzing through his mind. Steven kissing him. Steven in his bed. Steven in the hospital, telling him that he'd been the one who'd hit him with the baseball bat. That he meant nothing to him anymore. Steven and Noah. Steven and Rae. Steven telling him he hated him, that he always would. Steven saying he loved him, and capturing his lips with his, those lips which Brendan could still taste, would always be able to taste till the day he died.

He had thought that it couldn't get any worse than that, but he had never been consumed with so much guilt before. Those particular feelings had always been shoved to the back of his mind, because to feel guilt would paralyze him, and he had to keep going. Brendan Brady didn't get paralyzed, or trapped, or stuck, or lonely or hurt. He couldn't afford to be.

Now he was dealing with those feelings for the very first time. The reality of becoming his father had stared him in the face in Ireland, and suddenly it was inescapable. The things he had done no longer seemed hazy and in the distance, but suffocatingly close. Sometimes he'd be shocked to find himself staring down at his fists subconsciously, at the potential power of them, the things he'd done with them. The people who had born the brunt of them.

Steven.

The reality of what he'd done to the boy was what really kept him from sleeping every night. He was terrified that if he fell asleep, he'd dream of the things he had done. The punches, the blood, the bruises. He would never be able to go back and change things. No amount of apologies would make it better. It killed him to think about how much pain he'd caused him, when all he wanted to do was protect him, keep him safe, love him. It killed him even more to think that he never would, because Doug had taken over that role.

With Rae and Noah, it had been different. Rae couldn't give him what he could. It was clear to see how much Brendan's masculinity turned Ste on, and as much as Rae tried, she just couldn't compete with that. Brendan had patiently - or sometimes not so patiently - waited as Ste played happy families with blondie, knowing that with a word or glance from him, he would be back in his bed, back in his heart. That was all it took.

Noah had been more problematic. Seeing Ste with another man for the first time had made Brendan feel sick with jealousy, ripping through him and making his actions ugly, twisted, controlled by the need to have the boy as his own once more. Ultimately though Brendan knew that Noah wasn't right for him. They were poles apart in terms of their interests and desires. Ste wanted loyalty and monogamy. It hadn't taken much to seduce Noah, and hiring Sean to get him away from Ste had been embarrassingly easy.

But Doug...Brendan knew Doug wouldn't hurt him. He wouldn't cheat on him. He loved Ste's kids. They had their own business together. For once in his life, Brendan wasn't entirely sure if he could compete.

Ste had asked for time away from him, and Brendan had tried to respect that. But two weeks with no contact had felt like hell. He'd tried to avoid the deli at all costs, which wasn't easy when the Chez Chez balcony overlooked it, and the steps of his flat lead down to Carter and Hay. He'd noticed from customers coming out that they must be doing business as usual, and Brendan struggled to contain the feeling of dread that this conjured up in him. Did this mean that Ste and Doug were continuing as if nothing had ever happened? Had Ste just been lying about needing time, and had planned to cut him out of his life for good? Was this like scamming his money from him all over again?

Brendan was shaken from his thoughts by the sound of his phone vibrating. He kept it on at night these days, just in case...

I'm outside. Can I come in?

How did he even still have his number? Brendan had expected him to have deleted it a long time ago.

Adrenalin running through his body, he jumped out of bed and ran down the stairs, not stopping to put a shirt on, his boxers covering his modesty.

Unlocking the door as quickly as he could, not bothering to worry about waking Lynsey, Cheryl or Joel, he was breathless by the time he found Ste standing outside his door.

"I'm sorry to come at this time - I just..." he looked down at his hands, playing with them. "I needed to see you."

He sounded sad, confused, hesitant. Brendan couldn't stand to hear another goodbye. If he'd chosen Doug, he'd rather not know. He'd rather see them together in the village than be told that Ste didn't want him anymore.

Letting Ste step instead, Brendan closed the door behind him.

"You've chosen him, have you?"

Ste shook his head, brushing off Brendan's words.

"It's not that simple. Doug's been good to me, Brendan. Good for me. Am I meant to just give that all up for you? What if it all goes wrong again? I don't know if I can survive that."

"I won't hurt you ever again."

"I've heard that before though, haven't I? In this exact room."

"Things are different now. You know that."

"A few months doesn't compare to the years that you...I don't know, I don't know." He ran his hands through his hair, the hair that Brendan longed to reach out and run his fingers through.

"Would you give me up?" Ste asked.

Brendan looked at him through the darkness of the hall.

"Give you up?"

"If I asked. If I told you I wanted Doug, and for you to leave me alone. Would you respect that?"

Brendan was silent for a moment, listening to the ticking clock. The boy was asking him the impossible.

"If it's what I thought you really wanted. Then yes. I'd give you up."

Brendan couldn't read Ste's reaction to this news. He could see him struggling to control his facial expression.

"I know it's not what you really want, though."

Ste scoffed. "You arrogant -"

"Hear me out, Steven. I know I've done a lot of terrible things. I don't necessarily deserve your forgiveness. But you and me...Douglas could never understand. You two could never have what we could have. I've never fought for you before, not properly. I've always let you go, pushed you away, given you every reason to leave. I'm done doing that. I want to be happy."

"And you can't be happy without me?"

There was no moment of hesitation.

"No."

Brendan had never seen him look so torn. Taking a step towards him, he didn't stop going until he and Ste's mouths were inches away from each other. He inhaled Ste's scent, and traced his features with his eyes. No matter how many times he'd tried to replace the boy is his affections and his bedroom, he had never managed it. There was no one else who was so fucking gorgeous, no one else who got to him so much. He wanted Ste to remember that, that inseverable connection between them.

"Can Douglas make you feel the way I do?" he whispered into his ear.

He could see Ste's cheeks turning pink even in the darkness.

"What do you mean?"

"You know exactly what I mean." Brendan reached out a hand to stroke Ste's nipple through his t-shirt.

"Does he make you come like I do? Does he make you scream?"

Brendan nibbled at his earlobe, unable to stop himself. His need to touch him, to be inside him was startlingly intense.

"You don't get to ask me these things."

Brendan didn't think he was imagining the stutter in his voice, the uncertainty there. Ste was practically begging him to go on.

"I bet you've missed it, haven't you? The things I can do to you that he never could."

He definitely didn't mistake the all over body shudder that came over the boy.

"You always did like to be taken, didn't you Steven?"

Before he could say another word, Ste's lips were on him, encompassing him. Their force was so hard that Brendan knew he'd have sore, red lips the next day, but that suited him just fine. Pulling Ste closer to him, he kissed him back, not caring that they weren't alone in the flat, not caring that he still hadn't got a definite answer. Perhaps this was the answer, proof that they'd never be able to stay away from each other.

Dragging him towards his bedroom, Brendan began to undress him, running his hands everywhere. Ste's noises spurred him on, as he moaned appreciatively, grappling with Brendan's boxer shorts.

They had never wanted each other so much. The year apart made their actions that much more desperate, their kisses that much more hard and rough. Brendan tried to slow down, to prepare Ste properly, but it wasn't easy when all he wanted was to be in him. Ste didn't seem to mind. After Brendan had inserted two fingers into him, he nodded frantically.

"I'm ready."

"You sure?"

Brendan knew it must have been a while. He was almost certain that Ste had topped with Doug.

"Mmmm."

Entering Ste, Brendan was reminded of that wonderful feeling of warmth and heat that overtook him. All the fucks in the world couldn't match this. There was something about the boy, something which only he could do for him.

As Brendan began to move inside him, they stared at one another with scorching eyes, which said everything that needed to be said at that moment. They were both aware of having to be quiet so they didn't wake the others, but Brendan could see how difficult Ste was finding it, biting his lip down to stop himself from screaming, and beads of sweat covering his forehead.

"Let it out," Brendan groaned.

"What about the others?"

"I want to hear you."

Ste smiled, and stroked Brendan's arm as he began to lose himself. He called Brendan's name, and it drove Brendan on further, as he felt his orgasm build as a reaction to the sounds coming from the writhing body underneath him.

When they both came, they lay in each others arms afterwards, getting their breath back. Brendan licked Ste's cum from his stomach, and put an arm around him. Their legs touched in the bed, and Brendan could feel Ste's thick leg hair. He stroked it with the heel of his foot, finding that it comforted him as much as it comforted Ste.

"Steven?"

He felt the boy nod into his shoulder.

"Are you going to stay with me?"

"Well I'm not going to go back out again at four o'clock in the morning, am I?"

"That's not what I meant."

There was a pause, as Brendan wondered if he had overstepped the mark. He knew that he shouldn't push him, not when he was just learning to trust him again.

"Yeah."

Brendan felt a hand smoothing over his own.

"I'm not going anywhere."

They both smiled as his words rang out around the room, solid and true.

In the morning they'd rise slowly, kissing each other and getting reacquainted with one another's bodies. They'd come down the stairs together, facing the shocked faces and under the breath comments with bravery. They'd leave the flat together as a couple for the first time, Ste insisting that they had to keep it quiet for a few weeks, before the dust settled with Doug. They'd read the letter together, the one that Ste wrote to Brendan a year ago, when saying goodbye seemed like the only option.

They began to fall asleep in each others arms, feeling the warmth of the other next to them, pulling each other as close as humanly possible.