Lacing up his boots, Steven came to the conclusion that if he wanted answers, he had to find them himself.

A swoop upstairs had him finding nobody, but down the stairs revealed stacks of alcohol barrels he had to manoeuvre past, and confirmed he hadn't ended up in some randomer's home.

With the quiet surroundings, Steven located Joe after hearing the uncanny Bostonian accent, but a smiling Joe, hunched with his arms on the bar and nursing a glass of Jack in his hands, was not expected.

It was so rare these days, even with them making up and dicking about. Joe's smile was usually masked with hurt, and Steven, as the inflictor of that pain to those around him, saw right through it.

"Hey man, what's up?"

"Oh you know, the usual," Steven answered, taking a seat next to his best friend.

He checked out the guy behind the bar, apparently responsible for the bright mood, and although he didn't want to ruin it, Steven was curious about the early choice of alcohol and nodded at the glass in hand.

"Did you have a rough start?"

Joe smiled again, but it was more of a faint tug of his mouth. Even the barman, who tried to look busy cleaning a few pint glasses, had stifled a laugh.

"It is the morning...right?"

"Yeah, try half two in the afternoon," the barman said with an amused look on his face, kindly disappearing around the corner.

Being out cold for almost twelve hours was more than a reason to be in disbelief.

"I ordered you food by the way."

Since Steven already felt out of sync with himself and a bit sick, he couldn't decide whether he was in the mood for something to eat, or if it would make him feel worse.

"Will's just gone to get it," Joe explained, after a sip of his drink.

"The barman?"

"Yeah, it's just him for the moment. The others have gone to restock."

On cue, Will returned with two plates of steak and chips and a dish towel slung over his shoulder.

Steven assessed him closely, a well built frame even if he was on the skinny side, an outgrown short cut of dirty blonde hair parted at the side, and dark brown eyes that hadn't strayed too far from his work.

"Evan, right?"

There were Arabic tattoos on both his forearms, easily noticeable since his shirt sleeves were rolled up and testing out one of the alcohol pumps.

"That's me."

Steven kept his elbow on the bar top but offered his hand and an equally friendly quirk of his mouth. Will was happy to collide their hands together in a firm handshake.

"Steven. Nice to meet you."

"Likewise. I've heard a lot about you." Will let go, adjusting the dish towel on his shoulder. "Can I get you a drink?"

Steven shook his head, knowing he should avoid alcohol until he had eaten something.

"Maybe just a lemonade for now."

"Sure." Will then knocked a knuckle in front of Joe's glass, "Same again?"

"Yeah, go on."

Pouring another JD and making a lemonade with the actions of a skilled professional who did it day in, day out, Steven was curious about this guy. His face seemed too innocent despite his collected, matured approach to his job and intriguing tattoo choices.

"Eat," Joe urged. "It's really good."

Steven didn't need to look over to see the munching, but he did anyway. Reluctance to take the advice was unlikely to go amiss either, and it made Joe put down his cutlery.

"Eat," he repeated, forcing the untouched fork between fingers.

"Alright, alright!" Steven strained a laugh at the seriousness, regaining his independence. He ate a slither of steak in peppercorn sauce under a watchful eye and looked for approval. "See? I'm eating."

Joe remained serious until the chewing resulted in a successful swallow.

"Good right?"

"Fucking amazing," Steven agreed swiftly, revelling in the delicious texture that was melting in his mouth.

It had been a good decision to eat, and he went back for more.

From then on, the steak and chips were, in a word, devoured by both of them, and when Will cleared their plates, there was a lot of praise flying around.

Steven felt better after a proper meal and with his wits returning, he suspected Joe knew something about last night. It was a matter of asking, and all would be revealed.

"I'm gonna grab some air. You coming?"

"Yeah, sure."

He waited for Joe to down the rest of his refilled glass of whisky, and then they took the back exit into a courtyard area.

Knee high weeds fractured concrete slabs and splintered discarded planks of wooden crates, and it was far too cold for Steven to be wearing a thin, black shirt that was only half buttoned up.

With his hands cast over his hips, he squinted at the grey sky that threatened with rain. Usually, it never did and instead, the rain appeared when it was least expected in strange showers.

Steven turned around to the flick of a lighter, was offered, and gladly took a cig for himself.

"Are you going to tell me what that look on your face is all about?" he asked around his freshly lit cigarette.

"What look?"

Steven sat on an upturned slab of concrete. "Like you've fucked a girl and you're really proud of it."

Joe dropped a foot from the brick exterior, taking a long, deep drag.

"Do you remember last night at all?"

Steven shook his head. "Not really, do you?"

"Bits and pieces."

It wasn't the strongest drug, but the nicotine was working its way into his system, and Steven felt a little more relaxed with each cloud of smoke exhaled from his nose or lips.

"It was a cool party to start with- you were poppin' a lot of tuinals- but then it became intense and competitive when everyone started doin' lines together." Joe paused, flicking the ash from his cigarette. "There's not much more I remember apart from being asked by this chick with purple highlights in her hair, y'know?" He clicked his fingers a few times, "Um...Rose-Rosh-no- Rochelle to help get you off the floor of her room."

"Rochelle?"

Joe nodded. "She didn't say why you were up there. Just wan'ed my help."

Steven was resting his cig hand on his knee, absorbing this new information.

So Rochelle was the name of this chick he had talked to earlier, and for some reason, she held a strong grudge against him.

"Anton might know," Joe continued, lost in thought. "Oh yeah, when I went upstairs he was there and helped me try and move you, but we were both so high we couldn't move your dead fuckin' weight."

Stint of relaxation passing, Steven gritted his teeth.

He was so tired of hearing that shitty name mentioned. Anton this, Anton that, and now he was apparently getting all handsy with Joe which was completely unacceptable.

"He gave you a name too, in our attempt to move you. Can't remember what it was in Russian, but it translates to something like 'toxic twin two.' He named me the same thing, just one instead of two."

With smoke leaving his nose, Steven imitated a bull. "You and Anton are friends?"

Joe shrugged, not really looking at him. "Yeah, he's a chill guy."

"No Joe. He's a fuckin' narcissistic prick is what he is." Steven stood up abruptly stamping the cigarette butt harshly into the ground. "And 'toxic twins'? What the fuck is that!?"

"I thought it worked quite well," Joe countered calmly. "I like it."

Steven couldn't believe his ears, and looked up towards the bleak sky in desperation. He wasn't so cold anymore, and he wished for rain to wash Joe's stupid opinion away and drown some sense into him. It would be the perfect time for an unexpected downpour.

"I don't know why you have an issue with him."

The borderline amusement only made the boiling anger worse.

"Because I just do."

It was an awful reason by his standards, but Steven was not going to waste his breath explaining his hatred for the guy.

"Fine." Joe stamped out his cigarette, no interest to start an argument.

Breathing no longer at resting, Steven started to pace, grazing a thumbnail between his teeth.

"But I'm just sayin', if you want to know more, he probably has a better idea..."

He ignored the unhelpful advice, stopping at the furthest corner of the courtyard so he could face away from Joe most effectively. Steven didn't want to snap, but if Anton was the subject, it was way too easy to get worked up.

Shoulder leaning into the brickwork, he caught sight of a crumpled newspaper peeking beneath his boot. Intrigued, and grateful for the distraction, Steven moved his foot back so that he could decipher the title, and when he did, it was a title which he didn't just read once.

By the fifth time, his breathing had slowed dramatically, the colour in his face had drained, and he could not stop reading over the same fifteen words.

'Horrifying Shooting At Family Mansion Leaves Three Dead And A Further Eight In Critical Condition.'

The torn edges flapped with a gust of wind, but being firmly wedged under a cracked stone slab and the weight of Steven's boot, the article wasn't going anywhere. It was there to taunt, make eyes sting in guilt, and the reality that had surfaced had thrown him into a state of fear.

"Steven. Hey, earth to Steven!"

The snap of fingers next to his ear, a sound so sharp, made Steven fall back against the wall.

"I asked if you wanted another smoke," Joe explained at a normal volume, taking a hesitant step back to reinstate some room between them.

"U-Uh-I..."

"Shit, you look like you've just seen a ghost."

"No, I'm fine." Steven batted away the hand before it reached his shoulder, straightening his posture to keep the attention upwards. "I-I just need a minute."

He knew Joe didn't believe him, but he equally knew Joe wouldn't press him for details.

"I'm goin' to get you a drink. Wait here."

Steven shouldn't have been subject to concern when he had been so naïve to think it wouldn't have made the news. It was probably all over the press, because a story like that would break the headlines and attract all sorts of views and attention. But it was also a story that he was part of and if he had been caught, if his name was in the text, if his face was on the front page, then there was no question about it: he was the one to blame.

Knowing his time alone was running out, Steven freed the article from the slab. He folded it as small as it would go, feeling sick as he tamed his shaking hands, and stuffed it into a pocket.

When Joe returned with a generous glass of amber liquid in hand, it was taken greedily and ignited a fire at the back of a dry throat.

"We're going," Steven announced coldly, knocking the alcohol back like it was water.

"What?"

"We're leaving."

"I mean okay, what's the-"

Steven raised a fist, the same sharp monotonous voice that was unrecognisable as his own, overpowering Joe's confusion.

"Just get in the van."

<>

A/N

Ok I have to admit, I absolutely LOVED writing the toxic twins...Plus, the plot is finally going somewhere!!

Also opinions please...

The next couple of chapters I have are quite long: over four thousand and three and a half thousand words respectively and basically I wanted to know if you want me chop them down a little? Personally, I don't like super long chapters but it's up to you. Maybe four thousand words isn't even that much but I want to keep my readers happy!!

Let me know what'cha want otherwise I'll probably just keep them the same. It's a warning for the future too because I get carried away veryyyy easily ;)

❤️Xx❤️