A/N:

I care about this film so much.
Forgive me any inaccuracies, of which there will be many. I only got the chance to see this once before it stopped playing in UK cinemas. A true tragedy.

Also, this is really jumpy. A writing block does not make for seamless fanfic.

People at school called them the odd couple. The boys thought Gary was smart for using Andrew as a pulling card, saying "I bet the girls think he's a decent bloke because he's friends with that specy bastard." The girls thought Andrew was a saint for putting up with Gary in the first place.

Steven joked that if Andrew was a girl, Gary would have probably pulled him too, maybe even give him one of his infamous pity fucks, but he shut up quickly when Gary shrugged him off and said he preferred blondes.

Once in a while, Gary was able to convince Andrew to skip the morning class so they could go sit in the park, spending the last fifteen minutes of what would have been the first bell scrawling out badly forged doctor's notes. Andrew's handwriting was better than Gary's, but seeing as it was a doctor's note, Gary did the writing while Andrew came up with valid excuses.

Cutting through the chain fence surrounded the residential area of the park, they made their way over to their usual section of the wall. Gary gave Andrew a leg up before effortlessly swinging his knees on to the flat surface. Usually it was quite enough, but some days they got hassled by local deadbeats – today was no exception. A little way off, some guy about 19 or 20 was sat on his bike, lobbing chestnuts at the two boys.

"Oh, piss off!" Andrew hollered.
"Get lost, you fat fuck!"
"Oi!" Andrew sat helplessly as Gary pushed himself off the wall, brushing his coat out behind him so the tail snapped. He did that because he thought it looked cool, but Andrew thought it made him look like a bit of a twat. "What'd you just say?"
"I wasn't talking to you, mate."
Gary shrugged. "Don't care. What'd you say?"
"I was telling him to get lost. Called him a fat fuck." The thug sneered as Gary paced closer. "You can piss off, and all."
Gary looked over his shoulder at Andrew, before he drove his closed fist in to the side of the thug's face. He banked sideways off his bike, hitting the ground hard with his shoulder. Gary took his chance and grabbed the front of his t-shirt, pulling him centimetres off the tarmac.
"Only I get to call him a fat fuck." He hissed, before dropping him. "Prick."
Andrew lumbered off the wall, blinking owlishly behind his glasses. "Gary, what the fuck?"
"What?"
"You're bleeding!"
Gary extended his hand out in front of his chest, before using his thumb to swipe blood off his rings and knuckles. "S'not mine. It's his." He grinned at his friend. "You have to admit, though. That was a bit cool."
"It was a bit stupid, is what it was. He's twice your size."
"Yeah, well you're twice his so we could've taken him." He grabbed Andrew by the shoulders and spun him, before hoisting himself up on his back. Andrew rolled his eyes but said nothing as Gary's boots dug in to his thighs.
"Where to?" He asked, as he jostled Gary on his back. "Back to school?"
"Home. My fucking roots are showing."
"You're dying your hair again? You wound up looking like Robert Smith last time."
"What, you don't think I can pull off black?" Gary asked.
"No." Andrew said.

"You're taking the piss!" Gary snorted.
"Shut the fuck up."
"You are, you're taking the piss."
"I'm not though, Gary." Andrew replied, annoyed.
"Are you saying you're seventeen fucking years of age, and you've never done this before?"
"It's not that big of a deal."
"You must be the only seventeen year old in Newton Haven who's never smoked weed before." Gary rubbed a hand over his face, snorting again. "I knew you were a loser, Andy, but Jesus."

They were sitting in Gary's den, their backs to either arm of the settee with their feet meeting in the middle. In the background the Beastie Boys were playing out of an old radio that Gary stole from a car boot sale, although Andrew couldn't name the song if he tried. He never liked them much, but he never told Gary that.

Gary's joint was hanging limply from his mouth like he forgot it was even there. He had forgotten to light it when Andrew had asked him if he could try a bit, and he was still rolling the match in between his finger and thumb.

"So can I or what?" Andrew asked, impatiently. Gary clutched at his heart over his t-shirt in mock pride.
"Baby's first hit." He simpered.
"If you're going to be such a knob about it, forget it."
"No, no no." Gary laughed. "I want it to be with me, come on."

He struck the match on his jeans twice before it lit, and held it to the end of the joint until the rolling paper bloomed with orange and curled back from the tip. Taking the first drag, and the roughness of new grass, he exhaled before passing it to Andrew. His friend took it lightly in between his finger, before clumsily imitating Gary.

Sharp smoke filled his cheeks and settled thickly on his tongue. He inhaled too quickly, and it all went down the wrong pipe, causing Andrew to splutter and cough. He doubled over as he thumped on his chest, the smoke making his eyes sting and water. Gary dissolved in to giggles and Andrew gathered enough breath to wheeze "prick" before coughing again.

Gary's laughter lasted longer than Andrew's fit did, and by the time he was finished he had the heel of his palm to his cheek, wiping away tears. A feeble punch was aimed at his calf.

"Okay." Gary said. "You definitely weren't taking the piss."
Andrew sulked a little before Gary jolted him with his foot.
"Come here." He said, swinging his legs over the edge of the settee and shuffling closer to the middle. Andrew did the same. Gary took another drag to make sure the joint was still lit.
"This is a bit gay, but don't be getting any ideas." He spoke directly in to Andrew's face, and Andrew lifted his hand to waft away stray smoke.
"What the fuck are you on about, Gary?"
"Open your mouth." When Andrew didn't comply, Gary signed. "Don't you trust me?"
"No." Andrew stated, matter-of-factly.
"Knob. Just do it."

Andrew usually came to the conclusion that it was easier to just go along with Gary than to argue or ask questions, and this was no exception. He opened his mouth dumbly, looking like he was stuck halfway through a yawn. Gary took yet another drag, and without much warning other than common sense, sealed their mouths together.

Andrew had been kissed exactly once in his life by someone who wasn't related to him. She had braces, and he had no idea what he was doing. It was disgusting, and he was sure that her tongue spent more time on his cheek than in his mouth, but somehow that kiss was better than this one.

It didn't count as a kiss, not really. It was some sort of awkward CPR-like thing, only instead of giving Andrew breath, Gary was taking it away and replacing it with smoke. Andrew noticed that it wasn't as harsh this time, and that he could actually take it without coughing. He supposed that was the point. Either way, this was definitely more than a bit gay. Made Steven was on to something.

He made to move away, but Gary's hand had found its way to the back of his neck. His eyes widened because the smoke was still mingling in his cheeks, and it had nowhere to go. It took him longer than it should have to realise that Gary wanted him to inhale it, because otherwise, what was the point? And so he did. Somehow, the smoke was scratchy, and it tasted awful. Gary pulled away first.

"There. Now you're only the second biggest twat in Newton Haven."
"Who's the first?"
Gary smirked at Andrew. "Your mum." He said, before pressing his mouth to Andrew's again.

There was no smoke this time, but Andrew hardly noticed. He gave as good as he got, and he wasn't going to give Gary another target. He shifted his weight and pushed Gary back against the settee before slipping his fingers under his shirt. Without breaking the kiss, Gary grabbed Andrew's wrists and pushed them away, then lower. Andrew didn't think about it, and doubted he was capable in the muggy haze of teenage hormones, so instead of being curious he just took this as an incentive to drag the zipper of Gary's jeans down. Gary seemed more comfortable with this arrangement as he allowed himself to relax on the settee. Andrew was never good at winging it, but in some instances you just had to go by instinct. It definitely wouldn't be winning any awards, but Andrew found he didn't care about that when Gary's fingers were digging painfully in to his shoulders, his rings leave half-moon indents on the skin.

Gary refused to kiss him again after, and Andrew still had substantial capacity to be hurt by that. He brushed it off, though, fixing his glasses back on the bridge of his nose before asking Gary "so where now?"

Gary seemed to consider this for a moment, before shrugging with one shoulder in faux nonchalance. "The Famous Cock?" He offered.
Andrew punched him, and he thought he definitely deserved that one.

Andrew's lungs felt like they were burning from the inside. His eyes welled up, but his mouth was dry as smoke filtered through his nostrils. His hands clutched desperately at his chest, but he was disorientated. The flashing lights outside the cracked glass were giving him a headache. Blood was rushing to his head, pounding in his temple as his fingers moved searchingly, but uselessly. And Gary – where was Gary?

His fingers finally grazed the belt buckle, and his thumb pushed down on the catch, releasing him from the seat. His entire body slummed forward, and he found himself dealing with a new task of finding the door handle. Thankfully, it swung open on its own, and chilled air trickled in to the car, cooling his skin.

"Are you hurt, boy?" A gruff voice demanded. Andrew answered in the negative, and this seemed enough as a pair of hands seized him and yanked him out of the car. The man – the officer, Andrew corrected himself – was speaking at him, but Andrew's head was whipping around, looking for Gary. He was afraid, at first, for Gary and then for himself. And then just for himself. He was angry at Gary. No, he was furious. Gary had abandoned him when Andrew had had his back. Without him, Gary could have died. Because of Gary, he could have died. Because of Gary, he was now being arrested.

That was it. The straw that broke Andrew Knightley's back. Gary had gone too far, this time. Forget Gary King. Forget the Golden Mile. Forget all of it. Fuck all of it, but most importantly, fuck Gary fucking King.

Andrew lived by that for twenty years. All of them did. They all moved on, in their own ways. Peter was still quiet, Steven was still a smartarse and Oliver was still a conceited bastard, but they had all moved on. Even Andrew. Especially Andrew.

Except that wasn't true at all. Like most of the employed, he hated his job. His social life, if it could even be called that, was as dull as dishwater. His marriage, and it could scarcely be called one, was splintering and he was finding it hard to hold everything together. Maybe that's why he did it. Maybe, even after all the oaths he made to himself, and the counselling, and the bitter tasting, sweat soaked nightmares, maybe that was why he said yes to Gary.

At first glance, he seemed the same. Naturally, he was older. He had an unkempt beard that was his natural colour, but he was still dying his hair the same carbon coal black. It suited him in a way it hadn't when he was sixteen. He still had the coat, and the thread bare t-shirts with band logos and anarchic dribble. He had new boots, although it was hard to tell since they were so worn he might as well have been walking on the soles of his feet.

Yeah, at first glance, he had seemed exactly the same. And at second glance, and third glance, and forth. He was still a cock with a hair trigger sense of impulsiveness, and throughout the shit storm that had struck Newton Haven with force, Andrew kept glancing at him.

He glanced at him in the Old Familiar, when Gary had attempted to pick up where he left off with Sam. He glanced at him in The Mermaid, even though one third of the Marmalade Sandwich was threatening to draw his attention away. He even glanced at him in the Beehive, although it was brief, and he had more pressing and agile matters to deal with.

But only when they reached The World's End, did Andrew look at Gary. He didn't mean to, his hands were forced, but there it was right in front of him.

Gary wasn't the same at all. It wasn't for lack of trying, but the threads of his youth were as loose as the threads bound around his arms. He knew he should let go, but Andrew couldn't bring himself to do it. Not a second time.

"Gary…" he began.
"Don't." Gary cut him off. "Before you say something stupid like this is my fault or I'm sorry, just – don't."

Andrew didn't know what he had been about to say, but Gary's words were piercing.
"Listen here, you prick." He hissed, pressing closer in to Gary's space. "I had every right to be angry with you. I had every right to walk away from you because you walked away from me."
His words were failing him, and fast. Gary wasn't looking at him, he was actively searching for a way to put more distance between himself and Andrew.
"This wasn't my fault." Andrew said.
"I know." Gary replied.
"But it wasn't your fault either."
Gary's eyes swivelled to Andrew's face in dull shock, and Andrew forgot to be angry.
"You made a mistake." Andrew continued. "No, fuck it, you made a lot of mistakes. You were Gary fucking King, you were one big fucking walking mistake. But you were my best friend."

He never thought about it before, because he never bothered, he was too angry, but that was the one time Gary had ever properly let him down. He was a dickhead by nature, and was often more trouble than he was worth, but when Andrew needed him (and often when he didn't) Gary was there to defend him.

But where was Andrew? Where were any of them when Gary needed them most? Not one of them could say they wouldn't have done what he did, but every single one of them abandoned him and left him with nothing to hold on to.

Gary was frozen under the bar, staring at Andrew with tight eyes and drawn lips. If he had been glancing at him, Andrew would think he didn't give a shit. But Andrew was looking at him, and what Andrew saw was a man waiting for everything to fall apart again. Andrew could feel him trembling under his hands. Andrew knew that all Gary wanted was a second chance. Maybe if he could go back, and complete this inane ritual he could get back everything he'd lost.

But he couldn't. It was impossible. He wasn't a teenager any more. Oliver and Peter were gone, were transformed. Sam was probably halfway to London by now, and Steve was missing. He was all that was left, and he didn't know how much that was worth to Gary.

"Andy." Gary croaked, and for a split second Andrew thought he was moving to punch him. Gary's arms pulled lightly from his hands, before winding across his back and clasping behind his neck. His coat was rough on Andrew's skin, but Andrew didn't care. "I'm sorry."

They both knew what he was apologising for, but Andrew found that it no longer mattered. Twenty years was a long time.

Gary clung to him like a lifeline, and Andrew let him. After all, he was desperate too, only he hadn't realised until now. It hit him that this is why his life had been so lacklustre; that this was what had been missing from it.

Neither of them knew how things would be when this finished. Neither of them cared. For a brief moment, balance had been restored. Gary had gotten something back that was lost to him, and Andrew gave up something that had been destroying them both. Times had changed, and so had they, but right now it was King and Knightley versus the World.

Gary and Andy versus the end of it.