5: after

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May
1995

When a shiny car with blacked out windows pulled up outside Peter's motel, he debated running in the opposite direction. He could leave, head back to England, and forget any of this ever happened. But he wasn't the coward Danny was. And so, he got in, holding his breath as the car drove him through Downtown LA, and into Beverley Hills.

He watched in awe as gorgeous mansions blurred past the window. Tall gates guarded the beautiful homes, and water fountains twinkled in the Californian sunshine. They passed Porches and Ferraris and Lamborghinis. Grand swimming pools and green gardens. He wondered about the lives of the people inside. CEOs? Lottery winners? Celebrities?

His heart started to pound when the car slowed in front of a magnificent mansion, and the gates opened before them.

Everything was starting to blur. The car door was opened for him as he stepped into the sunshine, and then into the foyer of the house, surrounded by marble and extravagance. He was escorted by a man in a black suit who didn't say a word as he led him through to a smaller room, with two leather sofas, and a view of a swimming pool sparkling in the sunshine. The man left, and Peter was alone.

He couldn't quite grasp the fact that this was Danny's home. This room alone was bigger than their two trailers put together. From muddy footprints, dusty bedding, and snowy walks to school, to this. Wealth and luxury and fame.

How the fuck had Danny done it?

The door opened again, and there he was. Striking green eyes and a head of wild blond curls. Peter couldn't tell whether he looked the same as he did when he was fifteen, or whether he looked the same as he appeared on his movie posters. Because those were two separate people, and yet, both of them were stood in front of Peter, merged into one successful train wreck of a human being.

Peter had conjured millions of scenarios in his head about what would happen when the two boys were finally reunited. They all had different outcomes, and yet, every single one of them started with Peter running into Danny's arms, and hugging him tighter than he had ever hugged anyone before.

But now he was here, he could barely stand to look at Danny, let alone touch him. He thought he might get burnt if Danny's skin made contact with his own.

"Hi, Peter." Danny said softly, offering a faint smile, "You look...nice." He scanned him up and down. Peter was a scruffy mess of disheveled hair and tired eyes, wearing clothes too big for him, stood in a house too big for him. He didn't look nice. He looked small and pathetic.

"You look American." Peter shot back. It was true; Danny was tanned, with a real haircut now, and he wasn't wearing that knackered Nike jumper he used to practically live in. "You get your teeth done?" Peter wondered out loud. Danny used to have a chip in his front tooth from the time he fell off his bike and into the snow. It had never marred his stupidly gorgeous smile, though. If anything, it made it more endearing, more real. Now he just looked artificial.

Danny nodded, still refusing to take another step towards Peter, "Yeah." He mumbled. "How...How have you been?" It was a stupid question. He regretted it immediately.

"Been better, Danny." Peter smiled sweetly, the sarcasm dripping off of him, "I don't need to ask how you've been, I suppose?" He glanced out the window, gaze glued to the blue water, finding calm in the way it rippled in the light breeze.

"I've been..." Danny sighed, "Things haven't been easy for me either, y'know?"

Peter wanted to laugh out loud, "You're joking, right?"

"Peter, I was there, too." Danny couldn't bring himself to raise his voice above a whisper. "In 1989, I was there. You weren't the only one who—"

"I'm the only one who paid for it!" Peter snapped, "I'm the one who's been locked up for the past five years!"

Danny winced, "Peter..."

"I don't need the guilt anymore, Danny! I paid for that guilt, and I...I deserve to feel happy again, and you...you don't deserve this." He tugged at his sleeves, trying to control the trembling in his hands, "You don't deserve any of this."

"Peter, there isn't a day that goes by where I don't think about you—"

Peter laughed manically, "How sweet." He spat. "You were too  busy thinking about me to pick up the phone, I suppose?" He challenged.

"My lawyer advised me not to contact you—"

"Oh, fuck your lawyer, Danny!" Peter exclaimed.

The door opened again, and the man in the black suit reappeared. He glanced between the pair suspiciously, "Everything okay in here, Mr Fox?"

Danny gave him a smile. That stupid American smile. "Yeah, fine, thanks."

"You sure? I heard shouting, I thought I'd—"

"We're fine, Ed." Danny told him sharply. The man left again, shutting the door behind him.

"That your bodyguard?" Peter rose his brows quizzically, "As if you need one of those." He snickered, "Do they know what you're capable of?"

Danny glanced over his shoulder nervously, checking the door was safely shut, "Peter, you can't come in here, shouting about..." He didn't have the words. "Just keep your voice down."

Peter's body was hot with rage, "I don't know what I expected to get out of this, but was I that stupid to think you might actually apologise?" Peter asked in defeat, "After all these years, I thought...I thought that maybe...finally..."

Danny wanted to apologise more than anything. He apologised to Peter in his head a thousand times a day. But he couldn't. His lawyer warned him about any 'admissions of guilt' which apologising might bring about. He had escaped justice for five years, he couldn't be sucked back into this mess. Not now. Now he had finally made it in the world.

Peter sighed, "I guess Scott was right about you."

Danny's eyes met Peter's. Those deep honey eyes he shared with his brother. Danny hated how much his palms began to sweat at the mention of Scott's name, "H-He was?" Danny stammered.

"He said you were good at pretending to be that loveable kid everyone seemed to adore, but..." Peter's rage was simmering away. The pain had come back, instead. "Beneath it all, you were selfish..." Peter seethed, "And alone. You'll always be alone, Danny."

"I never meant to hurt anyone..."

"You hurt everyone!" And finally, the tears had arrived. Peter had been fighting them back, but now they welled in his eyes and ran down his cheeks.

"I want to make it right, I want to—"

"You can't make it right, Danny. I spent five years in prison; the things I saw in there, the things I went through..." He wiped at his wet cheeks with the back of his hand, "You will never understand. And you can never make it right."

"Let me try."

"How?"

Danny prepared himself for what he was about to offer. Peter wouldn't like it one bit, but it was the only thing Danny knew now. "Money." He breathed out.

Peter laughed coldly, reaching for the door handle. He had heard enough. He should have never come here. "Fuck you, Danny."


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