Helpless cries of a baby had him stumbling around, and trying to gauge a direction that didn't lead to nothingness.

Confusing himself, he stepped back, hitting something solid with his heel. When he turned, a white cot lay in a new found light but there was no baby to hold in his arms; only cotton blankets and cuddly toys.

The crying became louder and he caved, leaving the light behind him to desperately find her. He ran and ran, but the maze of dead ends took him nowhere. Darkness enveloped him, a suffocation that deprived him from the air he desperately panted in and out, and like always he collapsed to his knees, defeated.

His shaking hands slammed against his ears but it wouldn't stop. It never stopped.

Squeezing his eyes shut, he screamed.

<>

Steven bolted upright, breathing heavily.

There was frantic eye movement to remind himself where he was, and his recovery was looking down at the bundled white and grey patterned duvet that had been kicked messily to the left side of his bed.

He should have known a nightmare would wake him up, although daylight was peeking around the edges of the curtains, and he needed a shower to cleanse the cold sweat on his chest

Steven didn't let the temperature adjust, a gasp escaping him with the shock, and he gladly welcomed the warm water when it arrived. He washed the nightmare away the best he could as well as the remainder of the address that was still inked on his forearm, and then tilted his chin upwards to try and relax to the rhythmic tumble of water that gushed down the front of his body.

There was no need to prolong his shower, and there were fresh, cream towels ready on the towel rail, one of which Steven used to wrap around his waist, and another to tackle the mop of wet hair on his head.

The mirror above the washbasin had steamed up, and impatience had his hand swiping over it so he could see his reflection.

Somehow, Steven felt and looked more tired after he had slept a few hours. Nightmares took a lot of energy from him since they were regular occurrences, and although he was a young man and could function with the aid of certain things, he felt his youth slowly slipping away. Soon, those dark rings under his eyes would be a permanent feature from ill-health, and all those lines just a little bit clearer.

Picking out a new razor, Steven could at least try to improve his appearance by smoothing shaving cream around his mouth to soothe the removal of the scruffy stubble that had accumulated in their normal patches.

His face was soft and clean with a bit of self-care and attention, and he found a comb to run through his tangled hair that he would blow dry for as long as needed to make sure it fluffed up correctly.

Dressing was the next thing, and really, Steven hadn't had a morning routine this deluxe for months, but he remembered he had no more clean clothes to spare.

As the only option he had, the towel around his waist remained, and he was going to have to venture downstairs to find something to wear.

<>

Unlike Steven's, the rest of Leah's night had been somewhat peaceful. It may have been out of complete exhaustion, but she had slept.

The utility room was a stark contrast to her previous captivity. The place was clean with its own facilities and after rummaging around, she managed to find a few blankets and used folded towels for a pillow. The floor was still hard, even with an attempt of padding, but it hadn't affected her shut-eye.

When she had woken that morning, Leah had first looked through the window above her which overlooked a brilliant cluster of oak and beech trees with the thrilling essence of spring in the greenery.

Second, and more importantly, she'd attempted to clean her wound, running a cloth under warm water and gently pressing it to the back of her head. There was pain when she pressed too much in one place as there was a sizable area of swelling, but it felt relieving to wash away the dried blood in her hair. She knew she must have needed stitches, but her body's natural healing process had provided a barrier of scab in a bumpy line which she was careful not to disturb with her blind movements.

Leah also used her time to wash her face with water, removing the rest of her eye makeup that had smudged so she was completely fresh-faced. It was the least of her worries to look good, but she felt like she was wiping away any hope of remembering her jagged memories.

She returned to her makeshift bed under the window, and out of boredom, used her fingers to detangle small sections of her hair at a time. It was becoming greasy which indicated how much she needed a shower, and she wouldn't turn down a fresh change of clothes either.

It was convenient that there was a washing machine within her grasp, but having nothing to change into and five strangers in the house, it was not a risk she was willing to take. She would remain in her own clothes and let them mould onto her skin if they had too.

At some point, there was a knock, followed by the lock clicking, and an elegant swing of the door revealed her company. Immediately, Leah's eyes lifted to a tall figure of a man who she recognised.

"Hi," he announced.

She was surprised to hear him greet her. She was also surprised to see him in very casual clothes. The black leather had been replaced with blue jeans and a white t-shirt with some imprinted brand that she didn't recognise.

He looked like a genuinely normal guy with crazy, rockstar-esque blonde hair.

"Hi..."

"I brought you breakfast." He took another step in, holding out the plate in his hand. "I hope you're not vegetarian," he added, with a light clip of humour.

Leah saw the side of his mouth twitch like he was about to smile, and she found herself almost copying the notion. She had to remind herself that friendly terms could have been deceiving, and climbed to her feet.

Just because he was wearing something different and was becoming her personal chef, didn't change anything.

Leah closed the gap between them and noted the sandwiched white bread with rashes of ketchup-covered bacon sticking appetisingly out of the sides.

"No, I like bacon sandwiches," she said eventually, revelling in the distinctive smell as the plate was put down on the side.

"How's your head?"

When Leah looked at him, this man had genuine interest. His neat brow was slightly creased, and everything about his body language was poised for her answer.

"Oh, um, I'm not too sure," she admitted, motioning instinctively with one hand towards the back of her head. "It's difficult to see, but I guess the pain has eased off...slightly."

It was a straight-up lie that tumbled out of her mouth, but the blonde man nodded and pinched a hand to his closely shaved chin.

"I'll see if I can find anything for you."

Leah too found herself acknowledging the situation with a nod, but it was mostly out of spiralling confusion rather than agreement.

"Okay. Yeah. Good." He clapped his hands together and turned on his heel to leave before things got weirder.

Leah was frowning after him. Frowning, when she grabbed one half of the bacon sandwich, and still frowning when she took a generous mouthful because she was absolutely starving. She would have pondered for longer about what the hell was happening, but the taste was even better than the smell, and it was too good not to have her full attention.

<>

The kitchen was the first right from the bottom of the stairs and carried the sounds of sizzling bacon and a light conversation.

With just a towel wrapped around his waist, Steven walked on through, and rested a hand on his bare stomach that unsurprisingly growled in anticipation of cooking food.

"Mornin'."

The cheery greeting came from Tom who had briefly looked up, probably after seeing a half naked figure out of the corner of his eye.

Though Steven didn't reply, he did take in the scene.

There was Tom jostling a pan and plating up breakfast and Brad beside him with his back against a counter and swigging from a glass of smoothie. The island in the centre was already messy with cereal boxes and bowls and every cupboard and drawer lingered with a feeling of new exploration. The clock on the furthest wall read half past ten in the morning and so Steven expected to see everyone up and about, but Joe and Joey were nowhere to be seen.

"There's clothes in the next room." Brad's voice appeared over the clatter of plates, along with a helpful gesture with his glass in hand.

Steven, who shockingly hadn't found his unmute button, stood a little awkwardly, both arms now dangling by his sides. He considered going to find something to wear after being given the direction, but he was also starving, and there was food well within his reach. Luckily, his decision was confirmed by a light jog of footsteps followed by a huff of deep breathing from behind him.

"Oh hey, Steven," Joey chirped breathlessly, giving him a raised chin greeting on the way past. He pulled out one of the sleek, black bar stools on the island and slid onto it, slapping his palms down on the marble top.

"You'll never guess what's out there."

There was the inevitable 'what' response from Brad and Tom, and Steven showed his interest by taking a seat on the adjacent side to Joey and leaning forwards on his arms.

"So, the outbuilding behind- garage, mini house, whatever you want to call it, has a fully equipped gym and there's also a barbecue and seating area with some other cool stuff, but holy shit, I've never seen so much land! It's taken me, what? Half an hour to run the whole thing? And I was sprinting!"

It explained Joey's post-exercise sweat that had darkened some of the curls of his hair, particularly around his ears.

"No way," Brad followed on with a small smile, grabbing a plate that consisted of a bacon sandwich and scrambled eggs from Tom, which he served to an awaiting Joey.

Breakfast began eagerly for one, but Steven had zoned out and stared aimlessly at his clasped hands.

Joey slowed down his chewing and frowned. "You okay, man? You seem...quiet."

Since it could only be in reference to him, Steven blinked upwards, and saw how all three of his friends were now sharing the same, curious expression.

Quiet was not a word associated with him. Ever.

"What? No- yeah. Yeah, I'm great." The lie rolled all too quickly off Steven's tongue, but it was the first actual sentence he had spoken. He needed to change the subject. "Where's Joe?"

In the silence after Steven's question, his behaviour was definitely being judged. Luckily, Brad loosened up and put him out of his misery.

"He's not up yet."

"Yeah, and that's his loss because I ain't cooking anymore," Tom added, slapping the tea towel that was slung over his shoulder onto a clean counter.

On the cue of food, Steven's stomach rumbled, so he took advantage of what was available and leaned across to grab the other half of Joey's sandwich.

"Hey!" Joey whined, automatically trying to get it back. "That's my food!"

Steven turned his body away so he could take a massive bite, which wasn't too difficult with his blessed genes. When his cheeks were full, he swivelled back around.

"Thm mmd hhm hm- ms'nt mmoihmg hmm mmook mnny-mmore!"

Having been unsuccessful, Joey scuttled back and jabbed the rest of his scrambled eggs with his fork, whilst Tom was the one to make sense of the gibberish.

"I think the English translation of that was: 'Tom said he wasn't going to cook anymore.'"

Steven was still struggling with his chewing, but he proudly (and dramatically) scraped his bar stool back, waving the rest of the sandwich in the air in front of him in approval.

Brad turned to Tom, scrunching up his eyes. "How did you even decipher that?"

There was a casual shrug out of the corner of Steven's eye, but he had already left in search of something to wear.

Two black kit bags fell into view in front of the designer grey sofa and because he had not bothered with any lights last night, Steven hadn't noticed the bags when he had been in this very drawing room.

Licking the last of the ketchup from his fingers, he grabbed the bag with 'ST' on a bit of paper and then flung it down on the chest high cabinet, next to the door. The final bag belonged to Joe as illustrated by his initials 'JP' and Steven presumed the others had already taken their own.

He unzipped it, saw various tops, t-shirts, jeans, underwear and all that he needed, but he was just as interested in the thick brown envelope on top.

With each move, he received an envelope containing a wad of cash, a new burner and sim and of course, his booty call for drugs. This one had all of the above, but with extra credit cards that took to his liking.

Steven whistled. At least Tabano had gone out with a fucking bang.

There was still a lot of anger over the bail, but no cops had come knocking, and the guys looked like they were enjoying themselves. Steven might have been too if he wasn't having issues of his own which included keeping this a secret from them and when he found the right time to confess, they might actually beat him up.

Even Joe might finally swing a fist at him.

Steven shook himself out of his head by forcefully grabbing his bag and then Joe's from behind him. If he hadn't been already, he was more than itching for a joint, or a line of cocaine, because to him, that stuff was beautiful snow that melted his synapses.

With the plan to get Joe up, Steven's bare feet padded against the parquet style flooring that formulated the flooring across the majority of the downstairs. He jostled both bags in one hand and used his free hand to reach out for the bannister at the bottom of the stairs to help propel his weight up.

But, when his left foot hit the first step, he automatically froze.

They weren't like his nightmares that were predictable with each night, because traumatic flashbacks crept up on him with no apparent warning. He was having one now from the rush of noise that rang in his ears, all those familiar voices and distressing cries, and he had a nauseating sense of dizziness if he kept his eyes open too long.

Steven had to really focus to keep his breathing steady in order to control it, and the tight grip on the bannister was the only thing keeping him stable.

The chilling seconds passed like they always did, and with an adjustment to the kit bags he was holding, he carried on up the stairs like nothing had even happened.

<>