Return ~ 1

TWO YEARS LATER

He'd been out of prison a few weeks now.

Here and there. Nowhere for long. A 'mate's' floor. A hostel in Leeds. A train that didn't ask too many questions. But sooner or later, it had to happen.

He was back in Bristol.

He'd been putting it off — dragging his feet, convincing himself there wasn't a rush. But he knew better. The city wasn't home, not anymore. Maybe it never had been. Still, it was where everything started. Where everything fell apart. He just hoped she was still here.

The streets of Bristol hadn't changed much. The faces had, maybe. The shops. A few new flats shoved into the corners of old buildings. But the bones were the same — the cracked pavements, the faded signs, the way the sky always seemed a little too grey.

Cook walked slowly, hands deep in the pockets of a coat that didn't really feel like his. His steps were steady, but his mind flickered, restless.

He used to dart through these streets like he owned them. Back then, he moved loud, wild — always with a laugh or a cigarette or a bruise freshly forming. Now, he was quieter. Trying to blend in.

He was used to being invisible these past few years. A shadow slipping down alleyways, keeping his head down, his mouth shut. But now? He didn't need to hide anymore. He'd done his time. Paid for most of it, at least. Still didn't mean it didn't send a shiver up his spine when someone looked at him too long. Habit, maybe.

He passed College Green — and that hadn't changed. Still a mess of kids sprawled on the grass with plastic bottles and smoke. Roundview kids, probably.

He didn't stop walking, but his eyes lingered.

He used to be one of them...Before everything.

He kept walking, past the high street, past the off-license they used to nick from, past the old pub, past the student flats where he used to live. God it all felt so far away now. Like someone else's life.

Then came the college.

Roundview.

Still standing. Still there, like some twisted landmark of who he used to be. He slowed for the first time, letting his gaze drift up the steps, to the same graffiti-tagged pillars, to the students milling around outside — heads down, voices high.

It came back so fast it almost knocked him off his feet.

First day of college. That strange, electric tension of being new somewhere. He didn't give two shits back then. He'd only shown up to that college for a laugh— and the girls.

But then he met Tess.

He didn't know her name yet — just the stripes in her hair, the scowl on her face, the way she walked straight into him and acted like he was the most insufferable person in the world (which to be fair he probably was)

He'd given her some shit. Course he had. He was a dick back then. Still was, in a lot of ways. But she gave it right back. Didn't flinch. Just looked at him with those eyes like she already had him pegged.

Cook stood still, just for a second, letting the memory breathe. He remembered every detail about that day.

Back then, life felt like it was waiting around every corner. College, mates, girls, chaos —

Now?

Now he didn't even know where he was going.

The streets looked the same.The buildings. The sky.

Bristol hadn't changed.

But he had.

-----

He'd been walking around aimlessly for hours.

No plan. No direction. Just footsteps on old pavement and a head full of noise.

He hadn't really thought this far ahead. Getting out was one thing. Getting back? That was another beast entirely.

He had no idea where Tess would be. Not really. He'd thought, maybe, about heading to Naomi's first — seeing if she was still around. But come on. No chance she stayed in town all these years.

He wanted to go to Freddie's.

To the shed.

To the one place that used to make sense — the place they all ended up at when everything else fell apart.

But he knew Freddie wouldn't be there waiting.

He even thought about trying Tess' old place. But what then?

"Hi, I'm Cook. Remember me? The guy who made your daughter's life miserable then disappeared for five fucking years?"

Yeah. Showing up at Anna Richardson's front door was not high on the list of smart ideas. He'd be lucky if she didn't swing a frying pan at his head.

Eventually, he settled for a bench in some park. It was quiet. Not too cold. The trees around him creaked softly in the wind, and the lamplight bled gold across the empty grass.

He sat down.

Tilted his head back.

And let the dark roll over him — some stubborn part of him hoping that when he opened his eyes, everything would make sense again....

It didn't.

What woke him was something jabbing at his ribs.

Cook groaned, shifting slightly. The bench dug into his back, damp with the kind of cold that soaked through coats. For a second he forgot where he was.

Then he opened one eye and saw the culprit.

A kid.

Tiny. Maybe four, five years old. Standing a few feet away from the bench, brandishing a stick like a sword, basically eye-level with Cook even while he was lying down.

He blinked again, confused. "The fuck—?"

The boy dropped the stick immediately and stepped back, wide-eyed. "Sorry! My mum says I'm not supposed to talk to strangers, but—this is an emergency."

Cook stared at him.

"...Right."

The kid looked serious now, hands clasped in front of him like he was trying really hard to be brave.

"You seemed nice," he added after a beat, like that somehow made it alright.

That got a snort out of Cook. "Yeah? Must be losing my edge."

He pushed himself upright with a groan, glancing around. The sky was pale and hungover-looking, early morning light filtering through bare trees.

He looked back at the kid. "What's the emergency then, little man?"

"I'm lost."

Cook's stomach turned slightly. "Shit."

The kid didn't flinch at the word, just looked up at him expectantly.

"Well, that's not ideal," Cook muttered, rubbing his jaw. "What's yer name, fella?"

"Lewis," the boy answered quietly.

Cook's throat tightened, but he didn't let it show. "Alright, Lewis. Where's your mum or dad then?"

Lewis frowned, thinking. "She was over there," he pointed vaguely toward a row of shops beyond the trees, "But then I saw this dog. A tiny one. It went down a little secret fairy path and I followed it... but then I couldn't find the path again. It disappeared."

Cook ran a hand over his face. He had no idea what the hell a secret fairy path was, but he'd heard worse plans.

"Well," he said, standing slowly and stretching out his sore limbs, "we better find your mum before she goes mental, yeah?"

Lewis nodded seriously. "You're nice."

Cook smirked a little at that.

But all of the sudden there was a shout from across the grass.

"Lewis?!"

Cook turned to see a man jogging toward them — about Cooks age, young, fit, that clean-cut, nice jacket kind of guy. Not a dad-dad. Not middle-aged with a receding hairline and bordering a mid life crisis.

Lewis raised a hand. "I'm here!"

The man practically sagged in relief as he reached them, dropping to a crouch beside the boy. "Jesus, mate. You scared the life out of us."

"I found him here," Cook said, voice casual, hands in his pockets.

Lewis pointed. "He helped me!"

The man looked up, clocked Cook properly for the first time — eyes scanning him like he was trying to work out if he should be grateful or worried.

"Cheers," he said eventually. "Thanks, really."

"No bother."

The kid gave Cook a wave before his dad took his hand, starting to walk off. "Don't run off again, alright? We were bloody panicking."

"I followed a dog," Lewis said matter-of-factly.

"Still not an excuse." The man shook his head, then added, more lighthearted, "And best not go talking to dodgy blokes on benches, yeah, mate?"

"He's not dodgy. He's kind."

Cook let out a dry laugh — surprised by the warmth it triggered in his chest.

He watched them disappear further and further down the path.

Weird kid.

Weirdly familiar kid.

Something about the way he spoke. The way he stood there, all sure of himself and full of stories like the world owed him magic.

Cook shook his head, rubbing the back of his neck.

"Whatever," he muttered to no one. Wasn't his problem.

He turned away and lit a cigarette with shaking fingers, trying not to think too hard about why his chest felt tight.

He stood, joints stiff, breath misting in the morning air.He'd been stalling long enough.JJ's place was next.

Time to stop putting things off.

-----

JJ's house looked the same.

Same flickering porch light. Same stiff beige door that always felt too neat for the barely-contained chaos inside.

Cook stepped up the path, hands jammed in his coat pockets. He knocked.

It took a moment. Then the door creaked open.

Mr. Jones stood there — older now, greyer, but with the same glazed, slightly confused look. Like he hadn't quite caught up with the moment yet.

Cook gave a half-smile. "Alright, Mr. Jones?"

He squinted at him. "Do I—" He frowned. "Do I know you?"

Cook sighed, lips twitching. "Yeah, mate. It's Cook."

Still nothing.

"JJ's mate. His best mate," he added, rolling a hand. "Loud. Handsome. Bit of a prick."

A pause.

"We used to nick food from your fridge. Broke your model train set. Twice."

Recognition clicked slowly behind Mr. Jones' eyes. "Oh. You."

Not exactly the warm reception he was expecting.

Cook smirked. "Nice to see you too."

Mr. Jones didn't smile. Just leaned against the frame. "Well this is certainly a surprise."

Cook shifted on his feet, unsure of what to say, "So, is J in?"

"Jonah doesn't live here anymore."

Cook's stomach sank a little. "Yeah?"

"Moved in with his girlfriend."

Cook nodded, glancing over the man's shoulder like the ghost of JJ might still be lurking behind a door or eating cereal in the hallway. Nothing. Just empty walls and the sound of a clock ticking somewhere inside.

"You got an address?"

Mr. Jones hesitated. Then, with a shrug: "Suppose."

A few minutes later, Cook was back on the pavement, scribbled address in his pocket, wondering what the hell he was about to walk into next.

---

The house was a little run-down but had that weird kind of charm — chipped paint, overgrown hedges, but flowerpots still hanging from the porch. A corner place with character.

Cook stood at the gate a moment longer than he meant to, staring.

Then he dragged himself up the path and knocked.

A woman stared at him, suspicious. Blonde, sharp eyes, hoodie tied tight. She had a kid on her hip and the air of someone who didn't have time for bullshit. Lara.

She blinked. "Who the fuck are you? And what are you doing on my doorstep?"

Cook hesitated. "Uh... it's Cook."

"Nice," Her eyes narrowed. "Am I supposed to know who that is?"

He rubbed the back of his neck, glancing down at his shoes. "Well... yeah. Kinda hoping so."

Then she squinted. "Hold on. Cook Cook?"

Cook offered a half-smile. "Depends. If there's another one, I'd like to meet the bastard."

Lara snorted. "As in the Cook whose photo's up in my fuckin' living room? The Cook that disappeared?"

"Yeah that'll be me."

She stared a beat longer, then turned her head and yelled, "JJ! You better come to the door right now!"

Cook held his breath.

And then he saw him — JJ stepped into view, hair shorter, neater, shoulders broader. Still dressed like someone's idea of a science teacher but... calmer now.

Cook stepped forward—

JJ fainted.

"Ah, shit," Cook muttered.

Lara sighed like this was the most normal thing that had happened all week. "Unbelievable."

Ten minutes later, they had JJ on the couch, a cool cloth on his forehead. Lara sat nearby, arms crossed, still eyeing Cook in disbelief.

Finally, JJ stirred.

"I wasn't dreaming," he murmured.

Cook grinned. "Jaykins."

JJ bolted upright.

And then launched himself at Cook, arms around his neck in a grip tight enough to bruise. Cook froze for half a second — then hugged back just as hard.

He shut his eyes.

Fuck, he needed this.

"I thought you were gone," JJ mumbled into his shoulder.

"So did I," Cook said quietly.

JJ pulled back, blinking fast. His brain was clearly starting to catch up now — eyes darting, lips moving, hands flapping with old, familiar urgency. "Hold on. Where were you? Where? It's been, what? four, five years!!? You just— Cook, you vanished. We thought— I thought—"

Cook let out a breath and ran a hand through his hair. "Ah, mate... long fuckin' story."

Lara, still watching from the armrest, snorted. "I'll bet."

Cook shot her a look, then turned back to JJ. "I was in Manchester, right? Makin' cash, sellin' shit, workin' for this bloke—big-time dealer. Got mixed up in some proper dodgy stuff. Ended up turnin' the bastard in." He exhaled. "Then I got nicked myself. Did nearly two years inside."

JJ's mouth hung open.

Lara raised an eyebrow. "That was very brief."

Cook shrugged. "I'll give you the director's cut when I'm less knackered."

He looked JJ up and down, really seeing him now.

"Man," he said, shaking his head. "You've changed."

JJ scratched his nose. "Well. Yes. People do that, Cook."

That made him laugh — a quiet, surprised sound that came from somewhere deeper than usual.

JJ stood awkwardly. "You can stay, if you want. Crash here. Tell me everything. In Fact I insist. We need to tell-"

Cook exhaled. "Listen, mate. I'm so fuckin' happy to see you, you don't even know. But I—" He ran a hand down his face. "I need to see her."

JJ's expression dropped, understanding immediately. "She's still around. Lives on Chapel Street. 92."

Cook swallowed. The words settled heavy in his chest.

He stepped forward and pulled JJ in again. Tighter this time.

"I've missed you, man," he mumbled. "Fuckin' love you."

JJ squeezed him just as hard. "I love you too, Cook."

Cook pulled away, nodded at Lara, then turned.

He had somewhere to be.