choosing to become good friends with american siblings matt and shannon buckner was something you didn’t once regret. you trusted them wholeheartedly, and shannon always invited you round whenever she could. shannon had moved to london after their mother passed, and there she met her husband, steve dunham. you got on well with steve; he could be stern at times, albeit nice enough when it counted.

though whenever you were round and steve was home, you always heard him speak vexedly of his younger brother, pete; a west ham fanatic, even more than steve. a football hooligan, apparently. leader of the ‘gse’ - some kind of firm. according to steve, pete was starting to get a bit out of hand after a recent confrontation with a rival firm that turned nasty, involving a smashed telephone box and a lot of headlines.

steve reckoned pete needed to settle down, find someone like he had with shannon. pete, however, wasn’t interested in a love life.

you had only met him once - in shannon’s kitchen when he strolled in, straight to the fridge for a beer. he’d teased matt’s american accent, introduced himself properly, and called steve a “top bloke” once he’d left the room. your first impression was mixed: very good looking, stone island coat, blonde buzzcut, and entirely too aware of it.

as time went on, matt became distant. shannon worried constantly, and eventually told you he’d joined the gse and grown close to pete.

one saturday, matt invited you both to the chiswick ales pub to celebrate west ham’s win. shannon refused, but you went, reluctantly.

the pub was loud, crowded, and already rowdy when you arrived. matt led you to a table packed with the gse.

and pete was there.

he clocked you straight away with that same grin. you weren’t told the whole firm would be there. perfect.

you were the only woman at the table, and the football talk didn’t stop all night. by 10:30, you’d had enough.

you left quietly, saying bye to matt, and stepped into the cold air, finally able to breathe.

“aye aye love, wait up!”

you turned. pete, slightly out of breath, had followed you out.

“you mind if i walk y’home?”