And the three men are walking towards me and it's like my feet are sinking into the concrete. Focus, Luke! Craig Miller's getting closer. Keep your chin down, and punch from the middle. You hear me? I try to move, but I'm stuck. No, you're not!

Then his voice curls round my neck. "Why you running for?"

I'm sorry, Marc.

Craig circles round so he's in front of me. The other three stand spitting distance behind him. The cold sweat on the back of my neck. I look down at my hands. Remember the blood. My blood. I can't move.

"That's better."

He's kind of swaying from side to side, even more like a snake, a cobra. He's not bigger than me, but there's four of them. I ball my hands into fists and pain shoots up the back of my hand into my wrist.

"Been scrapping, have ya?"

He's pointing at my hands, smiling. I look at the others behind him. None of them look familiar. Have they been following me? Have I not noticed? Breathe, big man. Set yourself, and if it's on, you make sure you take him with you.

So I do. I lift my chest and my chin and I look him in the eye and I breathe. If this is where I get a kicking, then so be it. I deserve it. I don't care. Right now, I honestly don't give a shit.

Then he's shaking his head, grinning and blinking slowly.

"No no no, big man. We're not fighting."

He shakes his finger and smiles at the others. I don't get it.

"So what do you want?" I ask, hoping my voice doesn't crack.

Craig calmly folds his arms.

"Nothing."

EXT. NIGHT Late night aerial shot. Smethwick. Mostly sleeping. Scattered lights across a grid of dark houses. Some kind of song. Something slow. One guitar.

I stand in the hall with my head in my hands.

I'm exhausted. No sounds, and I can smell the kofte Marc cooked earlier.

Craig's face. His boys behind him. Me just standing there confused.

Then they left. No threats. Just messing with me.

Me bending down to pick up my phone. The head-light beams cutting across as they reversed away.

What do I do? Somebody tell me what to do.

My phone beeps and I almost fall over. I sit on the second stair and open the message.

Is that what you are?

Read it again. Imagine her face as she sent it. Slump forward. Re-read it. Again. Again. Feel the question digging between my ribs. Is that what I am? No. I don't know.

My foot throbs as I creep upstairs. Mum's at work and the landing's dark, but there's a crack of light cutting through at the bottom of Marc's door. He's still up.

I have to tell him.

I walk to his door. Seven steps. It used to be thirteen. I hear the sound. Maybe the same sound from the other night. Is he crying again? Should I leave him? No. Now's the right time. I tap the door. No response, so I push it open.

He's not crying.

He's doing press-ups, with his feet up on his bed to increase the angle, make it harder. Breathing deep, arms pumping up and down, like pistons on a machine.

"Marc."

He stops.

"Lukey." He's up on his feet in one controlled movement, like a gymnast. "You OK? Good night?"

I look round the room. It feels lived in. No more museum. There's a new printer still in its box.

"What's that for?"

He follows my eyes. "Printing. Recipes and applications and that."

"Applications?"

He starts stretching out, rolling his shoulders. "How'd the costume go down?"

I shrug. Is that what you are?

He sits on his bed and motions for me to join him. So I do, a flicker book of the whole night playing in my head.

"Yo! What happened to your hand?" He reaches for me. I pull my hand back and slide it into the jacket pocket.

"Did you fight? Who was it? You hurt?"

His voice is definite. Heroic.

"I'm fine. Just some stupidness."

"Let me see you." He grabs my chin and lifts my head, taking me in like a sculpture he's just finished moulding.

I shrug him off. "I said I'm fine. Leave it."

"What happened, man?" He crosses his legs on the bed next to me.

I shake my head.

"Tommy got into a bit of trouble." Liar. "So I sorted it."

You sorted it all right.

"And you didn't get hit?"

"No." I look at him. He's smiling. "Fair play."

"No, Marc, not fair play. Stupid. It wasn't even a fair fight, geezer was off his face and I could've had him anyway."

Tell me I'm stupid. Please. Shout at me. Tell me I should learn from your lesson. Call me out. Do something!

Marc just shrugs. "Well, if you had to hit him, I'm sure he had it coming."

My stomach turns. "You don't know anything about it! How can you say that?"

"Lukey. I trust your judgment. It's not nice, but if you thought you had to fight, then you did. You didn't go overboard, right?"

I picture Jono, cradling Simeon, and I stand up. I don't want to tell him anything else. I just want to be on my own.

"Luke, wait," he says. "I need to talk to you."

I scan the floor, avoiding his eyes, wait.

"Are they prospectuses?" I point to the floor near the TV.

"That's what I wanted to talk to you about. Sit down, will ya?"

He reaches down and grabs the chunky pamphlets as I sit back on to the bed. The covers show photographs of smug looking students smiling on the front steps of glass buildings.

"What are they for?"

"I'm thinking of going to college." His face is hopeful, a bit embarrassed even.

"To do what?" My voice is a bit too cutting, but instead of reacting, he gets more sheepish. "Food," he says. "Nutrition. Catering and that."

Then he waits for my response. I don't know why I don't like the idea.

Yes you do.

"Aren't you gonna say something?" he says.

"That's great. Good for you."

"Don't sound too positive, will ya?"

It's my turn to nod like I'm happy. "It's brilliant, Marc. Where you thinking?" Don't say my college. Don't say my college. He smiles.

"Leeds."

And the whole house shakes.

"Luke, what's wrong?" He stands up after me. "What's the matter?"

"No," I say. Punching the word out from my throat.

Marc's oblivious. "No what? Luke?"

"You don't get to leave."

I start out the room. He grabs my arm. "Hold on, man, what's that mean?"

I look down at his hand on me, and we both know the look.

Looks can be acts of aggression.

"What's your problem?" he says.

"Let go of me, now." I tense my arm and he feels it.

"What the hell's wrong with ya?" But he does let go.

"Leeds?" I say, feeling my voice breaking.

"I dunno. Maybe. I thought it might be good, you know, to get away?"

"Get away? You? Few weeks too much for you, is it?"

His face hardens. "Easy, Luke."

"What a joke." I turn to go again. He grabs me again.

"I said get the fuck off me!" I throw him off violently enough that his shoulder rocks his body back.

"What d'you think you're doing?" he says, setting himself. He can feel it in the air. We both can.

"You leave us here for two years? In your mess? The stink of you in the walls? And now you think you can just fly off again?"

"My mess? You call it my mess?"

I watch his body tighten. The muscles between his neck and shoulders. What the hell's happening? Are we gonna fight?

"Walk away, little brother." His eyes are stones. "Remember who you're speaking to. We'll talk tomorrow."

But I don't move. I want this. I wanna feel this. This is everything poured into a moment. He's older. He's stronger. I set myself.

"I said walk away." He pushes me in the chest and he's strong. He's so strong. But I don't care.

I push him back. He can't believe it. He hardly moves, but I can tell he felt it. He's shaking his head, his teeth bared, and I know it's wrong.

I know I'm stupid, but as he comes for me, I swear I feel myself smile.

There's a thousand different types of laughter.