This is the last chapter of Revenge. Thanks so much for all your lovely reviews and for those of you who have followed this story. Your comments mean so much to me, and have been heartwarming to read. I hope you enjoy the last chapter!

30th October, 2014

It takes him by surprise when the moment comes.

He had planned for something special. Perhaps not candles and dinner and soft music in the background, but his own kind of romance. Something that would make the boy's face light up, and cause his arms to wrap around Brendan's neck, his warm hold engulfing him.

Then they'd go to bed, and wouldn't arise till the early afternoon. Steven would make him breakfast, and they'd take it in turns feeding each other, before it would overtake them again, and they'd be back under the covers, the tastes of food combining with the tastes of each other.

There never seems to be the opportunity though. After Dodger and Amy's engagement, Steven makes several visits to the flat. Brendan wants to tell him that his kids will always be his, that Dodger can't take that his place. But he knows this is something he has to figure out on his own terms.

Things are busy at the club and the deli, and something stops him each time from producing the set of rings that lie hidden in a bag in the safe at the club. He feels faintly ridiculous for having them, and completely idiotic for hiding them.

Brendan remembers how different things were with Eileen. How he was eager in his wish to marry her, to have that big day with all their family and friends. How he felt a surge of pride when he saw her walking down the aisle in her dress, and felt a sense of finally belonging somewhere, of being someones husband. It was a clear message to the world. He was normal.

What he has never told anyone were the hours before the wedding, when he locked himself in his bathroom and puked his guts out, and carried on retching even when it felt like he had nothing more inside him. He had lent his head against the tiles afterwards, trying to cool his sweating face to no effect. He'd struggled to contain the way his body had shaken all over, telling himself that it was just wedding day nerves. That it happened to everyone.

There is no wedding venue with Steven. There are no flowers, or honeymoon, or bridesmaids, or vows, or the long walk to the alter.

He doesn't want to lock himself away. He doesn't want to be sick, or lie against the floor thinking that if he wakes up, maybe this will all be over.

That's why this has to be right. Why his eyes have continuously flickered over to where the rings are kept, waiting for...something. A sign, maybe. Telling him that he can do this, and that making Steven his own, forever, won't mean that he will lose him.

Steven has made him want to believe that sometimes good things can last.

The rings are plain. A gold band on Brendan's insistence. Solid, the kind of thing that will last for the rest of their lives.

Steven had requested for their initials to be carved.

"BB and SH? Little cheesy don't you think, Steven?"

"Oi! I like it."

"You would..."

"What's that supposed to mean?"

"Soppy git, aren't you?"

"Are you saying no, then?"

It had been virtually impossible to say no to Steven when he'd been giving him those eyes. The lightest shade of blue, and staring at him with a pleading expression, his forehead all crinkled.

Brendan regards the rings now, smoothing his fingers over the metal. He never really thought much about the circular shape before, but he gets it now. Infinite.

He quickly puts the rings back into the safe when he hears that familiar knock at the door.

Steven can always tell when he's lying, more than his own mother ever could.

He straightens his suit and makes sure that the safe is closed.

"Alright?"

The boy leans forward to kiss him, and Brendan can smell the freshly applied aftershave on him.

He has made an effort for this. He's wearing a new shirt that Brendan treated him to, and it clings to him beautifully, accentuating his toned body. He is no longer the skinny lad that Brendan first met at the club.

"You look good."

Steven's cheeks redden slightly at the words. Brendan can't understand how he doesn't realise how delicious he is, how he feels like he has to fight opponents off on a daily basis.

"Ta."

Brendan takes his hand and goes through into the club.

Only when he lets Steven go does he realise what he's done. It is an unconscious action. He wanted to do it. He wanted to take the boy's hand.

It is not like him. He doesn't do these gestures, these displays of public affection.

But Steven's hand was there, and warm, and inviting, and the world didn't come to an end when he took it.

Brendan pulls out a stool and motions for Steven to sit down.

He can barely take his eyes off him as he pours him a drink.

He imagines picking him up and laying him down on the bar this second. His body would settle on top of the boy's, and they'd both be naked before they knew it, clothes scattered on the floor.

Brendan reminds himself that he is in his place of work, that anyone could walk in, that Steven may be brazen, but he is not an exhibitionist.

He settles instead for stealing glances at him while he pours him a drink. He adds in a straw for good measure, just how he likes it.

Brendan pours himself a small glass of whiskey, and sits next to Steven.

He deliberately rubs his arm against his once, and doesn't miss the smile that appears on Steven's face. The boy bites his lip, as if he's worried that if he lets it show, he'll break the spell.

"How long have you got?"

Brendan check the clock. "Couple of hours before opening."

"You sure it's okay for me to be here like this? I'm not getting in the way, am I?"

The idea is ridiculous.

"You never get in the way."

Brendan leans forward and kisses Steven's ear, and nuzzles in close to his hair. It's incredibly soft, like it always is.

Steven puts a hand on Brendan's leg, and slowly drags it upwards.

It disarms him. He blinks, and Steven looks unsure. Brendan can already feel him withdrawing his hand.

He makes the decision quickly.

He places a hand on Steven's where it's placed on his thigh, and smooths down the skin there.

Letting him know it's okay.

He picks up his drink like nothings happened.

"How was work?"

Ste shrugs. "It was alright. Joel came in."

Brendan tenses. "He didn't do anything, did he?"

Ste rolls his eyes. Somehow it makes his eyelashes look even more pronounced.

"No, course not! You need to stop worrying about that."

As though it is that simple. As though the memory of Steven's bruised face has left him.

"It was months ago, Bren."

"Well, as long as he plays nice..."

Steven has buried it a lot faster than Brendan has. Things have operated on a purely professional level with Joel ever since that day. Every time Brendan has gone back to the flat to visit Cheryl, Joel has always been vacant at the family dinners. Conversation at the club is stilted, a matter of pleasantries and cold exchanges.

"And Douglas? How is he?"

Again, the eye roll.

"You mean has he found a boyfriend yet?"

Brendan grunts.

"I don't know! We don't really talk about that stuff much."

Brendan knows that asking this is like a form of self punishment. He doesn't want to know about Douglas. He particularly doesn't want to know about Steven and Douglas.

But if he finds out that Douglas has moved on to someone else...

"Maybe you should set up one of those internet dating profiles for him."

"Been there, done that. Just leave it Bren. Doug will find someone when he wants to. Anyway, this is about you and me, isn't it? This is supposed to be a -"

"Don't say the word."

"Date," Steven finishes gleefully.

Brendan polishes off his whiskey.

"It sounds so..."

"Perfect, I know," Steven says confidently.

He looks around the club.

"Where's Cheryl today?"

"She took the day off."

"Everything okay?"

"Yeah, just..." he falters.

Ste looks at him. "What?"

He only found out himself yesterday. He hasn't told anyone, because the words sound too difficult to form even in his head.

"Browning's appealed against his sentence."

Steven takes his hand off Brendan's thigh.

"He can't do that. He's only served two years!"

"Don't worry, he's not going to win. There's no way. It just...it brought up a lot of...you know, for Cheryl."

He could go back into prison and murder Browning himself for what he's done. It had taken Cheryl these two years just to come to terms with Lynsey's death.

"It's not just for Cheryl though, is it?"

Steven's voice is quiet and oddly soothing. He knows what to do in these situations, perhaps even more than he's aware of. Brendan wonders if it's because of what happened to Rae, or whether the boy was just born like this. Knowing the exact words to say, that will make everything just that little much better.

He moves the stool closer to Brendan, and kisses his neck, the lightest hint of stubble brushing against Brendan's skin.

"I'm sorry."

"It's not your fault, Steven."

"You know what I mean."

"Yeah."

"I'd never seen you like that before. When Lynsey died. I don't know how you got through it."

"I don't think I would have if it hadn't been for you."

Steven looks surprised. "Me?"

"Remember when you held me in the street? When she was pronounced dead. You saved me."

He smiles, and it's beautiful.

"I just wanted to...I don't know...stop it all. Make it all go away for you. I guess that's what you do, when you love someone."

Brendan stares at him, in all his vulnerability and braveness and strength and brilliance.

"Wait here, Steven."

Somehow this feels like the moment. A right time, if there ever is one.

He collects the bag out of the safe, and carries it over to the bar.

"What's that?" He sounds excited, like a part of him knows what's coming.

Brendan takes hold of Steven's left hand, and slides the ring onto his finger. It fits perfectly, the result of them going together to get Steven's hand measurements after Amy's engagement party.

Steven wiggles his fingers slightly, staring at the ring with a look of awe.

"Does it have -"

"The initials that you wanted? Yes."

Brendan reaches out to get his own ring, but Steven stops him.

"Let me."

He moves forward to place the ring on Brendan's hand.

"Wait."

Brendan takes his cross necklace where it's tucked underneath his shirt, and finds the closing.

"Put it on here instead."

It feels right to him to have the ring lie there. The gold and the silver clash, but it doesn't matter. He wants the ring to be next to the only piece of jewellery that he owns. Something which he has owned for most of his life, and carries with him everyone.

Brendan turns so Steven can loop the ring on the chain of the necklace. His fingers delicately brush against Brendan's neck, and he can see the goosebumps rise on the fine hairs that lie there.

Steven stands back to regard the sight before him. The ring has settled next to the cross, and somehow it looks like it was always meant to be there. On Brendan's chest, next to his heart.

His own ring feels strange against his finger, but he smiles at the look of it. He knows one day it'll fit snuggly on his hand, so much so that he won't even notice its presence. It will just have become a part of him.

"I love you."

It is a cliche in these situations to say that, isn't it? But there really are no other words in the world that could do it justice.

Brendan drinks it all in.

Steven loves me.

With him by his side, life feels less terrifying. Browning. Douglas. Being out. A hand on his thigh in a place where they can be seen. The fact that he took Steven's hand, and he wanted to.

It all seems, if not comfortable, then okay.

This is what growing up must feel like.

Being free.

Present Day - 2nd November, 2014

He is not really here.

He is floating, and someone else is doing all of this.

Someone else is gathering the gun that he has kept at the flat. The gun that he has never revealed to Steven, because they don't do that anymore. They don't keep secrets. He hadn't wanted the boy to worry. That wasn't the kind of life Steven wanted - guns and drugs and secret meetings at two am in a dark alleyway.

Brendan knew that if he explained that he owned it to keep him safe, that it was for their own protection, he would tell him to get rid of it. That they had no need for things like that. That they had escaped that world long ago, where there were a whole host of people with grudges against Brendan.

Steven is naive, and his naivety is wonderful. But Brendan knows that as long as he is alive, there will be someone out there who he will have hurt, or wronged in some way. That that person will seek him out, and find out who he loves.

One look at the way he is around Steven will let them know that he is his weak spot. His achilles heel. Everything he's ever wanted in one human form.

The image of the boy is driving him to distraction, and he leans against the sofa for a moment, struggling for breath.

He's dead.

Those had been Joel's words, hadn't they?

His mind hadn't been able to accept it. Someone can't just go from being a live person, someone with thoughts and feelings and quirks and annoyances, to someone who ceases to be. Like a light going out.

But he'd seen it, hadn't he? With Lynsey.

Her eyes had been open, a single mascara stained tear dripping down her cheek.

Strangled.

No pulse. No breath.

He'd carried her through the village, sure that she'd be okay. That if someone just tried hard enough, she'd open her eyes, and tell everyone off for thinking that there was ever cause to worry at all.

She was his sister. Just as dear in so many ways as Cheryl. He'd went to prison for her, and he'd have done it all again if he'd had to. Despite the bruises, despite the nightmares that had plagued him in his cell, despite being without Declan and Paddy, despite months spent apart from Steven, thinking he hated him, he'd do it all again.

That's what family was.

But Steven isn't Lynsey.

He is as much a part of Brendan as his own hammering heart beat.

There are reminders of him everywhere in the flat as Brendan rushes from room to room, frantic and unsure of what he's looking for, Joel talking in the background, as if he is a million miles away, located across a fog.

He primed Joel for information when he found out the news. One question above all others.

Who did this.

Because it had to be someone. This was the day that Brendan had always been terrified would come, the day when someone took Steven away from him.

Once he found out, he didn't need to know anything else. He locates the gun, loads it, and tears out of the flat, not caring to see whether he's even locked the door behind him.

Nothing matters anymore.

He can hear Joel calling his name behind him, and trying to run after him, but it only makes him run faster. He doesn't want to speak to anyone, or be deterred in any way. He knows what he has to do.

He passes at least a dozen people on the way to Walker's flat, but he makes no effort to conceal the gun.

He fights to keep the images of Cheryl and his kids out of his mind. He can't think about them, because they are reasons to live, and he can't live. There is no way he is getting out of this alive.

The moment Joel had told him, time had stood still. There was the invisible line between what his life had been like before, and what it was going to be like now.

Before there had been him. Brendan doesn't allow himself to think of his name. He has to keep running.

They had had a life together. A place of their own. The kind of commitment that Brendan had never thought he'd achieve. They'd planned to go on holiday together. He had text him only days before.

He'd started looking at places on the internet. A place which was busy enough for the kids to enjoy, but private enough so they could lie on sun loungers all day without being interrupted by prying busybodies.

Now there is nothing.

Brendan's legs seem to remember Walker's address of their own accord. He has only been there a handful of times. It's the kind of place that he'd have imagined for Simon. Classy. Expensive. Strangely joyless.

Mainly he's kept away, because there was something amiss lately. Something which he'd recognised, but had perceived as little danger. Not even an obstacle. Walker, loving...him.

Brendan had trusted that it was something in his own mind, or something that would go away, that was harmless.

He should have known that there were others alive who found him as precious as Brendan had.

Is this what this is? Has he...has he killed him because he knew he would never have him? That the ring on his finger told that fact to the world?

Brendan's phone rings in his pocket. He remembers checking it only minutes before, wanting to call Steven to see why he was late.

He can't look at it, because the person on the other line will try to stop him. They will not be Steven, and no one else will ever be enough.

When Brendan reaches Walker's flat, he lets out a sigh that feels like relief.

He is nearly at the end now.

The door is easy enough to kick down. Usually it would take him more than two attempts, but today something is different. He has a strength in him that he never knew he possessed.

The neighbours must hear the noise. This is a nice area, not the kind that is disturbed my gun shots and break ins.

He is prepared to shoot if someone gets in his way. An innocent casualty means nothing to him now. Soon he will be dead, and their deaths will cease to matter to him.

Brendan wants to scream out Walker's name, but something has happened to his vocal chords. He settles for firing a gun shot into the ceiling.

When he hears nothing, he thinks that he may be too late. That Walker's already left the flat, and could be on his way to the airport right now, or the train station, or anywhere that Brendan is not able to find.

But then he hears soft steps coming towards him from a side room, and the man is standing in front of him, as plain as day.

He looks terrible. Brendan manages to register that through his own haze.

His skin is paler than usual, and he has dark shadows under his eyes, like he hasn't slept in days.

Brendan doesn't know what he expected, but it wasn't this.

He imagines his enemies victorious in battle. Warren and Danny never let their weaknesses show, no matter how much Brendan managed to outmaneuver them. They were confident of their own abilities to the end.

Walker looks broken. A mirror image of how Brendan feels.

It disarms him, but only momentarily. There is only one reason he's here, and he clings onto that.

"I knew you would come," Walker says, without a hint of satisfaction.

"Where is he? Where is Steven?" It hurts to say that name.

Brendan doesn't know why he's asking. That was not part of the plan. He can't bear to see the wounds on Steven's body if it was a slow, painful death. He can't bear to see the perfection of him even when all the life has been drained from him if it was a quick demise.

But he has never not wanted to see the boy.

Even when he tried to block him out in prison, he couldn't. Even when he punched Steven after he found out Declan had stayed with him, he still wanted him in his life. He always knew that he would come back for more, because despite all the chaos, the simple fact was that he was in love with him.

Even in death, Brendan still wants to see him. To cradle him in his arms, and try to kiss the life back into him, even though he already knows he will fail.

He wants to tell him that he will never be alone, that Brendan will join him in wherever he's going, and they'll go there together.

"Where is he?" He repeats.

Walker is silent.

Brendan points the gun at him, and repeats the words in a scream.

Walker looks entirely unafraid. Like he's been waiting for the moment. Almost like he's embracing it with open arms.

Brendan's mind overspills with questions. This was meant to be mechanical, fast. Kill Walker. Kill himself. See Steven again.

But now he is here, he needs answers for what he can't understand.

"Why him? Why not me?"

Walker blinks once, his face otherwise like a perfectly sculptured statue.

"His pain had to stop."

Brendan shakes his head to try and make sense of this.

"His pain?"

"I had to do this, Brendan. It had to be this way."

Brendan moves forward, continuing to point the gun at him, willing Walker to give him an answer that means something, that explains all this.

He has forgotten that there is anyone who exists apart from both of them in this room. There is no door left intact to knock on now, and the footsteps that move towards him don't register in his mind, which only has room for one thing.

"Where's Theresa?"

Joel must have followed him here, called a taxi so it was quicker.

Brendan wants to force him out of the room, to tell him that this is not his fight. But Joel's words make him falter.

"Theresa?"

"He's got her, Brendan. He's got her too."

Brendan wonders whether Joel tried to tell him this before, while he was rushing around the flat. He tries to recall it, but realises that it's impossible. He couldn't hear anything after he got the news. His whole energy was concentrated on finding Walker as quickly as possible.

"Where is she?" Joel demands, mimicking Brendan's earlier shout.

The plan is messy now. He knows Joel will try and stop him from turning the gun on himself.

"Get out of here, Joel."

"No. I need to find her. Is she still alive?"

Joel runs towards Walker, and Brendan fires another shot.

It misses Walker by inches, and hits the wall behind them. Brendan doesn't know whether Walker is carrying a gun himself, or a knife, but Walker is damned if he thinks that he's going to stand by and watch while he kills another person Brendan cares about.

He watches as Joel makes a grab for Walker's throat, shouting at him to tell him where Theresa is.

Brendan goes to help him, but he knows he only has a limited time left.

He searches the rooms, looking for any sign of Steven. A bloodstain. Clothing. His phone left discarded in a corner somewhere.

He finds nothing, and when he reaches the last room, he discovers it's locked.

He tries to kick it down, but something has gone from him. Strength. Every moment that he lives, Steven's death hits him more with its devastation. It takes everything he has to throw his body weight against the door and bring it off its hinges.

When it is kicked through, it takes an even larger amount of strength to look at what awaits him. He is not ready to face the pain that Steven suffered.

What he sees is a strange mixture between heaven and hell.

Steven is bound and gagged. Layers of tape cover his mouth, and it looks like he's struggling to breathe. His hands and feet are tied together by rope, and it has left red imprints against his skin where it's rubbed.

But he's alive.

Brendan wants to lie down and cry, but he's scared that if tears cover his eyes, he won't be able to see the boy before him.

It's then that he hears a shuffling noise, and sees that Steven's not alone in the room. Theresa sits on the opposite corner of the bed, desperately trying to break free of her own restraints.

"Joel, she's here."

He'd almost forgotten the commotion outside the room. That the man who did this is still out there.

He takes in the sounds of their struggling now, and looks over his shoulder just long enough to make sure that Joel still has the upper hand. Grief has made him strong.

"Get her out of here," Joel commands.

"You take her. I'm not leaving Steven."

"Brendan -"

"Just go, Joel. I'll make sure Walker stays."

Joel wrestles himself free of Walker, and Brendan immediately trains his gun on him again while he remains on the ground, painting and covered in the imprint of Joel's hands around his neck.

Joel hurriedly moves into the bedroom, and Brendan hears him let out a strangled cry when he sees Theresa.

"Go, now," Brendan tells him, because he knows what it's like, seeing something like that.

It's the kind of thing that you could watch forever, just to check if something so awful can exist.

Joel carries Theresa out of the flat, and Brendan looks her over quickly to see what kind of damage has been done.

She looks frightened beyond belief, but intact. Not even in need of a trip to the hospital.

Brendan's eyes roam back towards Walker. He makes no attempt to get off the floor.

"So what was the plan, Walker?"

He moves closer to him, but still far enough away so he has the upper hand, and can guard the bedroom where Steven is.

He thinks how terrified the boy must be. His eyes were wide when they looked into Brendan's own. But he didn't look scared for himself, Brendan realises. He looked scared about what Brendan was doing there.

He was scared for him.

"Were you going to make me think that Steven was dead, and then let me come here for you to kill me?"

"No," Walker croaks, his voice sounding constricted.

Brendan knows that Joel would have killed him too, if he hadn't stopped him. For her.

But he wants to be the one to do it.

"Then what were you going to do?"

"I wanted to kill him. I needed to kill him. But I couldn't."

Brendan is shocked by his honesty. He expected more lies, like the lies Walker has been feeding him ever since he met him three years ago.

"Why? Why couldn't you?"

"Because I love him."

Brendan almost drops the gun he's holding, but tightens his grip around it at the last second.

He knew it was coming, didn't he?

But nothing could have prepared him for this.

"He doesn't love you, Walker. He loves me."

It is the first time he has ever said this. The words ring out loud and true. Despite all he has done to Steven, despite the past and every time he hurt him, he forgave him. He loves him.

His words seem to cause Walker near physical pain. He clutches his own throat, like he wishes he could strangle himself. Brendan sees Walker eye the gun in his hand like it is a welcome relief rather than a dangerous threat.

He wants to die. Perhaps this was the plan all along.

Maybe denying Walker this would be a worse form of suffering than death could bring. But Brendan's eyes travel back to Steven's, still wide and afraid, his form gagged, and he thinks about what he must have gone through in the hours since Walker took him. The uncertainty, and the fear, and not knowing whether he would survive at all.

Brendan can't let Walker live.

Brendan pulls back the trigger, and prepares to fire.

He hears Steven fighting for speech underneath the tape that conceals his mouth.

Brendan tries to concentrate and aim at Walker.

But the sound of Steven trying to speak to him makes him falter. He is frantically struggling agains the tape, and fruitlessly trying to move forward on the carpet.

Brendan hurriedly moves forward and removes the tape as gently as possible from around Steven's face. He keeps an eye at the door at all times, making sure that Walker doesn't move, although Brendan is not entirely sure that he even wants to.

Steven gasps for breath. His mouth is red and raw from the tape, and it takes some moments before he can form coherent sentences.

"Don't do it, Brendan. Don't kill him."

They are not the words he wants to hear. He doesn't want to be stopped or deterred in what he has set out to do. Steven being alive hasn't changed one half of his plan.

"I have to." He moves back towards the door.

"No, you don't."

"Let go of me, Steven." He tries to shake the boy's arm off him, but is once again surprised by the firm hold of him.

It's as though he's been keeping all his energy inside, waiting for this moment.

"No! Listen to me, you're not going to do this. You can't."

"He was going to kill you!"

"But he didn't."

Brendan hears himself laughing at the sheer idiotic nature of this argument.

"If you do this, then there's no going back, is there?"

"Exactly."

Brendan tries to get to his feet once more, to do this before Steven changes his mind, like he's changed his entire life.

Again, that hand on his arm, keeping him there.

"How long do you reckon you'll be able to keep coming back from this? First Danny, now Walker? They're going to find out, Brendan. You'll be put in prison, and we won't be together anymore. What then?"

Brendan shrugs this off. "Then we'll deal with it."

But there is that small nagging moment of doubt in his mind.

We won't be together anymore.

"This isn't just about prison. What about you? What will this do to you? You pretend you're strong and that nothing touches you, but it does. You're not a murderer, Brendan."

"Yes I am." He can't deny that.

"No, you're not. You're not someone who kills in cold blood and doesn't give a fuck. You care."

The opportunity is slipping away. He can feel it. Every moment that he is in this bedroom talking to Steven is every moment that Walker is still alive. He can't let that happen.

"Steven, please."

"I'll make the decision for you. Just stay with me."

Brendan looks from Steven to the hallway, the weight of the loaded gun still in his hands.

He looks, and he looks back again.

3rd November, 2014

He can smell bacon. It is close to him, right under his nose. It doesn't smell like the bacon that he cooks, which is always too burnt, no matter how carefully he tries to follow the packet instructions.

Cooking isn't his forte. He's been useless at it since he was a kid, and even with Steven's help, an Irish stew that he tried to make for Cheryl as a peace offering years ago ended up being a disaster, most of which ended up in the bottom of the bin.

No, this smells entirely different. It smells like Steven's cooking.

But he knows that's impossible, because Steven's dead.

And so is he.

Brendan opens his eyes, not knowing what he expects to see, but the sight that greets him is the most unexpected of all.

He is lying in his bed, at home.

A tray has been placed in front of him. Bacon like he guessed, and eggs, sausages, tomatoes, toast. The full works.

Most surprising of all is the sight of the person holding it out to him.

His hair is ruffled with sleep, and too much lies on one side. His skin is golden and smooth, and Brendan can believe that it would taste of honey if he ran his tongue across it.

His is uncovered by blemishes or bruises, but his lips have that bee stung, full appearance, like they have been captured by someone who knows how to kiss.

He is wearing pajamas that are a few sizes too big, like most of his clothes tend to be. That skinny frame has always been difficult to fill clothes.

Shorts cover his modesty, but his legs are on show, and the hair there is dense and as dark as the hair on Brendan's chest.

Brendan reaches out, careful not to spill the tray, and strokes them. As much to make sure that he's real as to feel the hair under his fingertips.

He expects Steven to disappear the moment he touches him, but he remains sat in the bed beside him, as real as he's ever been.

He smiles in a kind of wonderment that Brendan is there too.

"Lets forget about breakfast for now."

Brendan never imagined saying those words, but suddenly he doesn't feel hungry anymore. Not right now, at least. There are more important things.

Steven puts the carefully prepared tray on the side table, and climbs into bed. He settles in his favourite spot, in the crook of Brendan's arm.

"Steven."

"Mmm?"

The boy sounds wiped out, but content.

"We're not dead, are we?"

He hears him laugh, that loud laugh of his. Like he imagines a donkey would.

"No, we're not dead."

"Walker..."

"The police arrested him. You stayed with me until they came, remember? You were the one who called them."

Brendan tries to remember, frowning in concentration.

"Don't worry. You were pretty out of it. Maybe it'll come back to you in bits."

"Maybe." He is not sure if he wants to remember at all.

"Joel..."

"He's with Theresa."

"She wasn't hurt, was she?"

"No, she's okay. Well...shaken up, obviously. She was in his flat for longer than me."

The image then, of Steven bound and gagged, comes flooding back to him.

"Fuck, are you -"

Brendan tries to sit up in bed.

"Shhhh," Steven whispers, laying small kisses on his chest.

"But Steven -"

"I'm okay, Bren. I promise you. I'm going to be okay. Remember, we talked about this last night? He didn't hurt me."

He recalls them staying up till the early hours of the morning, Brendan holding him while Steven's words spilled out of him in strangled, rushed sentences.

Walker's message to Ste about Brendan being in trouble. Walker's father. The gun. Being tied to the bed.

He also remembers asking Steven the question that had been plaguing him.

"He didn't...you know...he didn't touch you?"

Steven had reassured him that he hadn't even tried.

"I don't think...I don't think he even thought about making me do that. I'm not sure he even meant that he loved me, Bren. I think he was just lost, and...sad."

Brendan's shakes the words from his memory. He doesn't want to think about Walker.

Less than twenty four hours ago, he thought the person he loves most in the world was taken from him.

He had wanted to kill himself, because life without Steven was the blackest thing imaginable.

Brendan pulls Steven closer to him, as close as he can possibly be. Reaching forward for Steven's hand, he grasps it, feeling the warmth and the aliveness of it.

He places his lips over the gold ring that lies on Steven's finger, and kisses it.