„Is this true?" Ethan asks Stanley the next day, showing him the page. They are sitting in the bar, beers in front of them.

Stanley takes the magazine and scans it quickly. His face shows some weird mixture of sadness and disappointment now. „Which part?"

Ethan scoffs, irritated.

„Don't be a dick. Are you still in touch with him? It this true?"

Stanley takes a long sip of his beer, clearly staling.

„We talk sometimes. Not much though. In fact, not at all recently," he sights, finally looking at Ethan. „What do you want me to tell you?"

Ethan narrows his eyes. He is getting angry for a reason he himself can't explain.

„I want you to fucking tell me if Nowell spends his days taking god knows what kind of shit and fucking around," he explains, voice harsh.

Staley shrugs, but there is some guilt to it.

„Yeah," he says finally, „I think he does."

So Ethan packs his bag again, buys himself a plane ticket and three days later he is in Los Angeles.

It's funny, when you think about it. Coming here took him almost eight years and when he finally did there is no one too greet him at the airport. He's not good at this whole life thing, is he?

He has Nowell's address from Stan so he gives it to a cab driver, hoping it's correct.

It is.

Nowell lives in a house. One of those big, white ones, with palm trees around it. Everything looks new and expensive and maybe person who wrote that horrible article wasn't completely wrong. Maybe fame really had gone to Nowell's head a bit.

It's not like Ethan knows what he's doing. He just feels like he owes Nowell this much. And at the same time, he does it for himself. To let his anger out.

Yes, he's angry. Because they had some kind of unspoken agreement, that whatever happens in their lives, no matter how hard it gets, they won't do anything stupid. But Nowell broke it. He broke that agreement and now Ethan is here, dressed up in black jeans and loose gray t-shirt, with messy hair and stubble, looking tired because of the long flight and because of the long life.

The gate is open so he walks to the front doors, surrounded by neatly cut grass and weird kinds of plants. Then he rings the doorbell and waits.

After two whole minutes he is ready to give up, find some cheap motel and maybe try again the next day. But just as he's about to turn back and walk away, he hears a sound of shuffling around, and then the lock clangs over and the door opens.

Nowell looks horrible. Eyes that used to shine with different colours now are dim, empty and there are bags under them. His hair is a complete mess, ruffled and weak. He is wearing sweatpants and nothing more, naked chest covered in weird marks that could be bruises but could also be love bites. And he is pale. Paler that Ethan has ever seen him before.

It's devastating to see him like this because last time Ethan saw him, Nowell was shining bright - mature and successful. Now he looks like a ghost and it seems like their roles got reversed.

Nowell is shocked, standing in the doorway with slightly red eyes wide open, clearly lacking words.

„You look like shit" Ethan informs him, voice drained from emotions and he passes Nowell by, inviting himself to the house.

It's almost hilarious. For eight years the whole LA thing has been haunting him. For eight years thoughts about Nowell were messing him up. For eight years he was doing everything to escape, throwing away every opportunity to try again. And then, one day he just packed his bag and now he's here, like it's just some casual visit, one out of many. It's like he opened the biggest box in his head, darkest of them all, only to find out it's empty. He knows it's the anger that blocks all the other emotions and yet, it's all so... usual. He just walked into Nowell's house, without blinking. Yeah, it's almost hilarious – how fucked up they are.

Finally Nowell wakes up and turns around to face Ethan again.

„Why the hell are you here?" he asks, irritated and confused at the same time. He seems a bit off, is on something, probably.

Ethan wants to laugh, but he just snorts instead, face cold.

„You know damn well why I'm here."

„If I knew I wouldn't be fucking asking, would I?" Nowell's definitely on something, now it's easy to notice. Maybe it's just alcohol, though. Living room drowns in empty bottles of all kinds. Ethan really hopes there was a party here and it's not all Nowell.

„How the fuck did you even get here?!" he's like a wild animal in the cage, scared but growling.

„I bought a plane ticket," Ethan sights, still looking around. This place must be very nice when it's not a complete mess.

„Oh, so you learnt how to use a plane ticket?"

Ouch. He expected it will be hard, but this way Nowell is hurting both of them, not only Ethan, so what's the point? Still, it catches him off guard and for a second he just stares at Nowell, trying to understand.

And he does understand, to be honest. He's been there. He fucked Nowell up and Nowell fucked him up and for last eight years they have been trying to fight it. And there were good moments and bad moments.

But they were supposed not to do anything stupid.

„Don't go there" Ethan says calmly and guides himself to the kitchen visible down the hallway, because he wants a glass of water. He surprises even himself with how firm and confident he is. Nowell follows him there, angrier with every step. Fact that Ethan is making himself home right in front of him isn't probably helping but fuck that. He is thirsty.

„Don't go there?!" Nowell attacks him when he is already reaching for a glass, voice low. „You fucking left me and ruined my whole life and now you just show up and all you have to say is „don't go there?!" Are you kidding me?!"

Nowell practically yells now and Ethan looses his patience. They were always the wild ones, after all. That's how this whole thing started.

„Excuse me, what?" his right eyebrow flies up, lips pressed in a thin line, „You were the one who left."

It's bad. Everything that was floating around them unspoken is being dragged out now. Guilt, regret, anger, disappointment... It was consuming them for eight years and now it will explode. It's really bad, will get even worse, probably. But then again, maybe it's good. None of them can live like this anymore.

„I left you the ticket," Nowell's voice is cold now, „I left you the ticket and I was waiting for you at the airport."

„Oh yeah," Ethan scoffs, „You knew I didn't want to go. I told you thousand times I wouldn't and you left anyway."

„Don't you dare blame this one me!"

Nowell is yelling. They are having a full-on, movie-like fight. It's devastating. Ethan spend his whole adulthood trying to repress all those memories and now it's all coming back, stronger than ever before. It's also stupid because they both know it wasn't about that plane or that ticket. It started way before that, they were slowly falling apart and the whole Los Angeles thing was just the nail in the coffin. But it's a good thing to argue about. And so they do.

„But you gave me no fucking choice!" and now Ethan is also yelling, „It was you in LA or nothing!"

„And you chose nothing!" Nowell slams his hand down on the countertop, accidentally knocking over an empty beer bottle. It falls on the floor and breaks.

Ethan winces at the noise, safely standing on the other side of the kitchen island.

Then room goes quiet, Nowell's eyes filled with flames, Ethan's eyes cold.

„It's in the past now", Ethan says finally, voice calm again, almost soft. He looks at the love of his life and it strikes him – how miserable they both are. And it's hard to be mad at Nowell when he looks like a shadow, body once full of live now occupied by the ghost. But then again, does Ethan look any better? Probably not.

„It's not," Nowell protests, voice husky from yelling. He reaches for some bottle standing next to him and takes a large sip, movements fierce. It looks like beer but it also looks like it has been standing on that countertop for days and god only knows what is inside, „You don't understand."

Ethan raises one eyebrow up and stays quiet, giving Nowell a chance to explain. So he does.

„I was engaged, for fucks sake," he shakes his head at the memories, „I saw a chance to actually start living a normal fucking life, and then I saw you. At Stan's party." He cuts himself off, eyes filled with pain, drilling two holes in Ethan's body.

„I saw you and it all came back. One minute I had my life figured out and another all I wanted was you. And you were so cold. So fucking cold. You barely even looked at me."

Yeah, Ethan remembers that. He was trying not to break down completely on that party and now Nowell is guilt tripping him? No way. New waves of anger are starting to gather somewhere in his stomach.

„You fucekd me up," is what Nowell says next. „Mark left me right before the wedding. "You clearly belong to someone already" he said, Jesus fucking Christ. He really said that and it was your fault. All of it! I called you that day and what did you say to me?" mad, terrifying laugh escapes his mouth," You said it's going to be fine!"

So that's what "the call" was about. It all gets even more unbearable now that Ethan knows. But there is no way it's all his fault. Hell no.

"You are a piece of shit, Ethan. You fucked me up and it kept coming back. You kept showing up in my life. And now you are here, from all the places. What do you want, Ethan? Because it's all difficult enough and—"

„You don't get to do that," Ethan cuts him off. „You keep telling me I fucked you up but guess what, you did the same thing with me," he tries to keep his voice calm, he really does. „So you don't get to blame it on me and you have no fucking right to make me fix you. It's sick. This whole thing is so fucking sick!"

He doesn't even agree with his own words anymore. He just needs to get everything off his chest. Eight years of sorrow is a long time, you know?

„So that's what this is about?" Nowell laughs again, loud and bitterly, and drinks again, then slams the bottle back on the countertop, not even on purpose. „ You came to fix me?"

He is mocking him in the worst way possible, hands now folded on his chest. It's really annoying. He looks at Ethan like he is better than him and wow. What have they become?

„I have no idea why I came here anymore," Ethan gives up and reaches for the glass to drink.

„So sleep with me" Nowell says out of sudden and Ethan chokes on his water.

„Excuse me?"

„You heard me," Nowell starts walking around the kitchen island and appears right in front of Ethan in few steps. Suddenly there is this familiar tension in the air. „You came all this way, for no particular reason. And now you are here, so sleep with me. Go to bed wih me. Fuck me, whatever."

Nowell is high or drunk or both, Ethan knows that but his words still leave him speechless for a second.

„You need to stop doing that," he says after a moment of silence, struggling not to look at Nowell's bare chest. How has all that turned out like this? He has no idea but hey, they are the wild ones. Even now, age thirty-two, „you need to stop with the drugs and this whole—„

He's cut off by a laud laugh. God, he hates that laugh. He never heard it before, it's not Nowell's laugh, not really. It's like all the shit he's taking speaks for him.

„So it's about the drugs?" Nowell asks once he manages to stop laughing. „You came all the way down here to give me some anti-drugs speech? This is brilliant, really."

He is shutting him out completely at this moment, Ethan can tell. It's painful and annoying at the same time.

„I came here," he starts, running his fingers through dark curls, trying to remain calm, „because you are way out of line. You will ruin yourself, Nowell."

„You are the one who ruined me, a long time ago!" Nowell attacks him again. „And why do you suddenly care what I'm doing with my own life?!"

„Because I do!" Ethan yells in his face. He can't take it anymore. „Because I never stopped caring about you, never, not even after the day you fucking left me in our apartment!"

Because I love you, he wants to scream. And yes, he does. There is no point denying it now. Man in front of him is a ruin, all kinds of fucked up and yes. He loves him just the same and wants him even more.

It's Nowell who smashes their lips together, hot and impatient, strong hands gripping Ethan so hard it hurts. The kiss is full of hunger and exasperation. They are both so tired of being separated, exhausted by holding those feelings back but also looking to take their anger out on something and so it doesn't take long before they end up on Nowells huge bed, ripping each others clothes off, trying to never break the kiss.

There is nothing sweet in it. It's pure sex and pure love, and pure love burns.

That's just how it is. Sweetness comes later, in touches and words, with sentiment or fondness or attachment, along with memories. But take it all away for the moment and you will find out that pure love is just flames.

And so they burn together that night, getting lost in each other's arms after years of convincing themselves they don't need that.

* * *

Ethan wakes up a bit sore and confused, drowning in white. White walls, white sheets, white curtains in the window with white frames, white powder on the nightstand. Then it all comes back to him and he has to close his eyes for a second, world suddenly spinning faster than it use to.

Then he opens them again and looks to the left.

Nowell is sleeping on his stomach on the other side of the bed, naked body covered only a little bit with crumpled sheets. His skin looks gold in the soft, morning light and Ethan wants to touch it.

He's lying quite far from Ethan, though, and that gives it away – that shows how long they have been sleeping alone, their bodies not used to the warmth of another person.

Ethan notices the small letter "E" tattooed right under Nowell's left shoulder blade and it makes him smile. He kept it. He was fucking engaged somewhere along the way and he still kept it. They are fucked up, aren't they?

There is a pack of expensive cigarettes lying on the nightstand beside the bed, lighter right next to it. He takes it without thinking twice and room is being filed with grey smoke seconds later. He takes a slow drag, lets his head fall back to the wall as he sits on the bed, thinking.

The room is a mess, now he notices it. Bed is clean, sheets white as snow, but everything else is covered in empty bottles, burned out cigarettes, blunts and some pills. It looks like there was a huge party going on here or like the owner of the house has real issues. It looks like both, actually.

Sun is slowly moving up and room gets brighter. Ethan finishes his cigarette and is already reaching for another, not even realising it.

"You smoke to much, love" low voice greets him. Nowell is lying on the side, watching him with a smirk.

Ethan rolls his eyes at that, but he stays silent. Because last night haven't solved anything. He doesn't regret it, he's not one of those. But they are both lying in the huge white bed and what now?

Nowell has letter "E" tattooed on his skin and Ethan's neck is covered with love bites screaming "mine" in Nowell's voice, but it doesn't change anything. There was a reason why they stayed away for all those years and it's still there.

"What are you thinking about?" Nowell is still looking at him from the pillow. Ethan takes another long drag and exhales slowly, filling the air with smoke. De does smoke too much. It's barely ten a.m. and the whole room smells like cigarettes already.

"I'm thinking about the night we met," he says and it's the truth.

"Yeah?" Nowell's fingers are brushing his arm lazily, "why?"

There is something bad hidden in Ethan's eyes. It looks like sorrow and it's sucking the green colour out of his irises.

"I just think there should have been a warning," he explains, shrugging.

"Would you change it, then? If you could?" Nowell sits up as well, running fingers through his blond hair, muscles on his torso even more visible now. "Do you wish you never met me?"

Ethan chuckles a bit at that, smoke floating around him.

"Yeah," he says finally, scratching his stubble. "Yeah, I think I do sometimes."

He does. That one night eleven years ago was a trap set up by his stars, he's sure of that. He could have had a nice, normal life but ended up like this instead, all messed up.

But then again, does he really? Is there anything in the whole world he would choose over the good moments he shared with Nowell? Because they did have a good moments. Plenty of them, actually. They were once perfect, after all.

"Me too," Nowell says and they sit together in silence for a while, two grown men defeated by life.

Then Nowell reaches for some weird pills and swallows them with what's remaining in the old whiskey bottle. With a loud sight he falls back on the mattress, eyes closed.

Ethan is watching all that in silence, finishing his cigarette. He shouldn't be surprised. That's why he came here, after all. Nowell has fallen into a really dark place, it's visible and it hurts. He has probably more drugs than blood in his system, stuffing himself with everything he accidentally finds in the mess that is his house. It's pathetic and so shocking, at the same time.

Nowell was the promising one. It's Ethan who always smoked too much and got more drunk than his boy, back then, when they were still together. So it's unsettling to see Nowell like that – as a shadow of a human being.

But Ethan keeps watching. Nowell's chest is slowly rising and falling, muscles relaxed. He looks calm, peaceful even, but there are still bags under his eyes and if he lifted his eyelids now, Ethan would see that striking emptiness again. Light grey irises are getting darker each time he looks at them.

He leans in and kisses Nowell without warning. Man underneath him lets out a pleased murmur and slides his fingers into Ethan's dark, curly hair.

They have sex again and this time it's sweet, all soft kisses and whispers, their fingers laced together almost the whole time.

And then Ethan takes a shower, puts on some clothes and beings to clean the house, more distant and cold with every proof of Nowell's degradation he finds. Nowell just kind of floats around, high and drunk before lunchtime, one moment clinging to him only to ignore him just a second later.

Ethan doesn't say a word the whole day. He just cleans, consumed by his thoughts.

It's so fucking hard – to watch Nowell like this. He's so different, so unfamiliar, a stranger, almost, but at the same time he's still Nowell, with all that Ethan fell in love with. How is this even possible?

When the evening comes, Ethan zips his barely used bag and starts walking towards the front door. House is quiet and weirdly empty, now that all the bottles are gone.

"Where are you going?" Nowell is spread on the couch, watching some shitty station on the TV. He sounds so surprised that Ethan snorts.

"I'm going back" he says simply.

Nowells eyes narrow at that.

"What?"

"I'm going home, Nowell," Ethan explains, voice tired.

"What the fuck?" Nowell gets up from the couch and is suddenly standing right in front of him. "What the actual fuck?"

Ethan shrugs. He's being a dick, he knows. But the can't look at Nowell anymore. Not when he is messed up this bad. They didn't work when they were healthy, so how could they work now, all broken?

"You heard me."

"Yeah, I did," Nowell raises his voice and it's possible to hear the alcohol in it now. Ethan hates it. "I fucking hear you and you don't make any sense."

"You thought I will just stay with you? Here, in that mess of yours? Really, love?"

There is an irony in Ethan's voice, he's sour. Hurt flashes through Nowell's eyes but soon it's being replaced by anger.

"So you came here," he starts, provocative, and crosses his arms across his chest, "to fuck with me, talk some bullshit and clean the house?" There is a hint of disbelief in his voice. "After eight fucking years?"

Ethan just stares, all cold. It does sound crazy when you put it like this, but there is more to it, obviously.

"I came here because I love you," he says finally and his voice is almost drained from emotions, calm and, well, normal. This is not how love declaration should sound like but then again, that's the thing with him and Nowell. The fact that they love each other is obvious, it is normality for them by now. They just try to hide it. To save themselves from it.

Nowell's eyes go wide at the words anyway, but Ethan continues, unfazed. "I flashed all your drugs down the toilet and now I'm leaving because you are a complete joke and I'm not dealing with that. That's on you."

It's true. All he said is true. He does love Nowell, always has been, always will be. He did also drown in the toilet every kind of addictive substance he found. Pills, blunts, powders, weed. He searched the whole house while cleaning and he threw away everything. Poured all the alcohol down the sink as well. Nowell was just to busy with doing nothing to notice. Ethan knows that Nowell can easily buy everything again, stock his drawers with drugs and whiskey once more. He knows that but he did it anyway. He needed to. And, at last, he really is going home. Because they are both thirty-two years old and he will not deal with Nowell's problems for him. He came here hoping he can save him but he was naive. He doesn't have enough strength to do that. He can't even save himself.

He just hopes that Nowell remembers now how good they once were. That it will motivate him to actually try to get better. Because truth is, Ethan is done with pretending.

He is scared, obviously. That frightening thought that if they get back together it will be only to experience the whole break up again is still somewhere there, it always is. But their meeting made it painfully clear that they will never let go. There is no forgetting, no moving on. Not for them.

So it's time to stop running. To give up giving up. He is ready to do that, he thinks he is.

But first he needs Nowell to pull himself together, get out of the mess he created. He needs Nowell to see what Ethan sees now and he needs him to understand that Ethan is too tired, too worn out to stay here and help him. He can only wait for Nowell, back in his home.

"You did what?!" Nowell is finally able to speak again, his face still shocked, eyes wide. Of course he's focusing on the drugs part.

Maybe he does it to escape the rest, though. Maybe he can't bear the thought that Ethan stands right in front of him saying he loves him but it changes nothing because Nowell fucked up. Maybe he does see it all.

Then again, his pupils are wide, eyes a bit red, lips dry, hands shaking sometimes for no reason. He is angry and barely present at the same time. Maybe he sees nothing.

"You know where to find me" is all that Ethan says and then he's gone, silently wishing they could just tell their stars to fuck themselves and try to make things work. But it's never that easy with them, is it?

This time Nowell is the one who watches the love of his life walk out the door. Suddenly he feels like he's twenty-four again, standing at the airport, broken and alone.