Missing [ST]

Twenty Three

Three hours passed and no one had gained a single word out of Leah. Three hours passed, in which Joey, Tom, and Brad had refrained from kicking down the door to try and reach level ground, but even if they breached that barrier, they wouldn't know where to start.

Steven hadn't tried, the only man who realistically had an explanation, but there was no betting on his success when he was a critical mess.

He ached with the past, was guilt ridden in the present, and felt tormented with what the future had in store. There was no peace, no empty corner in his mind, and the newest addition to the clutter of his existence was Joe, who after everything, really had left.

When Steven thought about Joe, and it had been many times in the three hours, he was reminded of the stinging memories that he had fought to stay afloat of. Crushing carelessness made it hard to see forgiveness, but Steven knew that nothing could ever break them apart forever, no matter what it was.

Even a life altering argument that felt like a civil war could prevent them ending up on the same side of history, because they had been through too much together to leave their time behind. But until Steven had tended his wounds, Joe could enjoy his freedom for all he cared.

The other trip down memory lane that had also occupied his three hours, was Leah Devereaux, a coincidence too good to be true.

It almost took him back to the night in September, except where her eyes had sparkled at him then, they stabbed with hate now. Those seconds that followed was like meeting her again for the first time and feeling like the only two people in the world. It was something that he should have been grateful for, especially since she hadn't recognised him, but this was not the man Steven wanted her to see.

The shame of being caught tongue-tied and feverish shivers keeping him wide awake for the remainder of the dark hours, had thrown his mood into the gutter. On top of that, Steven was already so physically and mentally drained from himself, that when the shouting started, he spiralled into Oscar worthy dickhead acting, said nothing he meant, and received all the shit he deserved.

"Steven." A hand waved in front of his face. "Hello? Earth to Steven?"

"Hm?"

Joey, the one responsible, was settling back on his barstool. Brad had his head in his hands beside him, and Tom was leaning against the cooker, fiddling with his watch.

Steven had no idea how long he'd been pushing his cooked breakfast around his plate, but he put the fork that was loose in his fingertips down, and tried to remember what the topic of conversation was.

"Unbelievable."

"What?" Steven asked defensively, yet another agitated on his behalf.

"I said...'' Joey found the composure to hold his temper. "I said many things, but I'm not going to repeat them."

None the wiser, Steven tentatively pushed his plate away from him, grimacing with an empty stomach at his untouched food.

"You look ill, Steven. That's the gist."

It was true. So goddamn true. He was ill. He was doing a shit job of hiding it, and no one deserved to be infected by his plague.

"I've been ill for over a year," Steven mumbled, bringing fingertips up to his temples. He rested them there like he did when a headache was brewing, and closed his eyes.

"And I know things ended badly with...you know."

Even though Joey didn't directly mention Joe, it was still enough to knock Steven's mood again. A humourless laugh escaped him, and he was right back to square one of hatred.