May
1995

Danny didn't sleep after Peter left. He stared up at the ceiling, laying in his grand bedroom, thinking back to his youth. His adolescent years had been filled with so much anguish, he thought he deserved a little bit of luxury in his life, like a reward for everything he had been through. But Peter hadn't received the same reward. His suffering hadn't ended when Danny's had; his was only just beginning.

He looked back at memories he ought to hate with a strange fondness. All those nights he'd come scampering across the yard, like a wounded animal, all swollen and bruised, longing for comfort. He'd crawl through Peter's window, and straight into his cramped little bed. It would be freezing, in the depths of winter, with no heating, and only each other for warmth. At the time, they complained about the cold, and about the size of the bed, and the endless tug of war over the bedsheets.

Now, in the warm solitude of his king sized bed, he'd give anything for just one more awkward night like that. All squeezed up, fidgeting and uncomfortable, his skin itching with the blossoming of a fresh bruise.

He had so many memories of Peter, and most of them were good.

There were some memories he refused to revisit, though.

The ones where there was blind horror in Peter's eyes, and blood on his face.

The blood.

Red.

Agony.

Fear.

Regret.

Danny sat bolt upright in bed, clutching his chest, his lungs caving in as he fought for breath.

No, no, no, no, no...

Peter throwing a snowball at Scott. Peter trying not to laugh during a lesson. Peter smoking his first cigarette and coughing for the next hour straight.

He tried to conjure up every other memory he had of the brown eyed boy with that crooked grin.

Peter reading a book, brows furrowed in concentration. Peter sneaking them into the movie theatre, because he was the only one smart enough to know how. Peter making them sandwiches. Peter lending him jumpers.

The blood was beginning to melt away again as Danny's breathing evened out once more.

He had to do this sometimes; remind himself of all the sunny moments in their friendship to drown out the dark ones.

It didn't always work. Sometimes vodka was the only thing that would console him. He'd stagger outside and collapse by his pool, watching the sun rise over the hills, throwing a rainbow of pastel colours into the reflection of the water, as he downed as much of the bottle as he could. Eventually, one of the housekeepers would find him the next morning, passed out on a sun lounger, face streaked with tears.

He eventually dozed off as the birds started to chirp. He was grateful that it was a dreamless sleep this time.

But he didn't get much rest before his bedroom door was flung open, and Andrea stood in the doorway, hands on her hips, watching him like a disapproving Mother.

He groaned, burying his face in his pillow, "Go away." He mumbled.

"Honestly, you're like a petulant child." She scolded, crossing the room and yanking the pillow out from beneath him, "Get dressed. They'll be here soon, and this is not the impression you want to convey."

He didn't know what she was talking about. He barely had a grip on his life most of the time. He let Andrea deal with everything, dragging him from meetings to sets to red carpets, while he just did as he was told, forcing on a brave smile for the cameras. But right now, he didn't want to just blindly follow orders like an obedient puppy. "Cancel it." He rolled over again, making no move to get up.

"No." Andrea refused. "Were you drinking again last night?"

"No!" He snapped, irritated.

"What was it then? Coke?"

Danny finally sat up, rubbing his eyes, "I'm not in the mood to see anyone today."

"That's not how life works."

"You need to get out of my bedroom." He ordered. He rarely talked to Andrea like that. For the most part, he was perfectly polite to everyone around him. But Peter's visit had shaken him up.

"Daniel-"

"You gonna make me call Ed?"

She rose her brows. He had never threatened to call security on her before. "Fine. I'll rearrange the meeting with Vanessa's team."

He stared at her, "Who?"

"Vanessa Harding." She sighed.

"Oh, the one you want me to pretend to be shagging?"

"Dating." She corrected curtly.

"Whatever." He dismissed, "Rearrange it."

Her expression hardened. She was clearly annoyed, but since he was the one paying her salary, she couldn't fight his decision. "Fine." She turned to leave.

"Wait, Andrea?" He called after her quickly.

She paused, "What is it?"

"Can you call my lawyer? Tell her I gotta see her as soon as possible. Today, maybe?"

She tried to conceal the puzzlement on her face, but Danny caught a brief glimpse of it, "Are you in some sort of trouble?"

He shrugged, "Maybe. Just call her. Please?"

Andrea couldn't refuse. It was her job, after all. "Okay."

Once he was alone again, he tried to get back to sleep, but it was no use. Peter had invaded every part of his brain, and it was driving him to the edge of insanity. The memories he had were haunting, but the ones he didn't were even worse. Because for five years, all he could do was imagine. Imagine Peter in a prison cell, wearing an itchy uniform, making friends with criminals. Imagine him crying himself to sleep, listening to the radio with the rest of the inmates, boredom eating him up.

Finally, Danny ventured downstairs, wearing just his underwear, not bothered about putting any more clothes on - all the housekeepers had seen him in this state plenty of times before. He reached for the phone, then the small scrap of paper where he had scribbled the motel's number last time.

The same receptionist answered, with a monotone drawl, as Danny tugged at the phone cord nervously, twirling it around his finger, and trying to ignore his thumping heart beat.

Then he was patched through to Peter.

"Hello?" That soft voice he knew all too well.

"I'm sorry." Danny blurted out.

There was a moment of silence. "Danny..."

"I should have said it yesterday. Fuck, I mean, I should've said it years ago, when it all went down. I just...fuck my lawyer, like you said. I'm sorry. I'm sorry."

Peter sighed, "Okay." That was all he said. It was funny that, how he had so much to say, and yet, nothing he wanted to utter aloud.

"How much longer are you in LA for?"

"I was about to start packing up." Peter said, "Nothing for me here..."

"I have to see you again." Danny was all jittery and nervous. Nothing had set him on edge like this in years - despite, maybe, cocaine, which he had taken quite a liking to.

"Danny, I have nothing else to say to you." That was a lie. There was so much to say, and Danny's apology had meant close to nothing. A few words could never mend five years of heartache.

"Please." Danny begged. "I need to see you." He was about to suggest today, but he remembered his lawyer. He needed to see her. Before he met Peter again, he needed to see her. "Tomorrow?"

Peter considered this. He wanted to say no, but he also wanted some form of closure. Something that might actually make his trip worthwhile. "Fine." He finally agreed.

Danny grinned - a grin which was now painfully American, and not very Danny-like, anymore. "Fine."