A/N: And here we have another sequel. This time it's to Hands Down but you don't have to have read that one to understand everything that happens though it may help.

Chapter One

"My my my. Anthony Fisher, what do we have here?"

The drawl from his flatmate made him wince and he looked over his shoulder at Greg, waiting for the snide comment or intrusive questions. Of all the mornings for the miracle of Greg being out of bed before noon happening, it had to be the one day that he wanted him to be asleep.

"You're up early," Ant said slowly, hoping Greg would let him keep some of his dignity. He didn't have much left as he stood there in the hall, all of his buttons missing off his shirt, the zip on his jeans broken and the biggest, darkest, love bite he'd ever received spread over his neck.

"Don't give me that shit," Greg snorted, stalking over and dragging him into the kitchen, shoving him down into one of their cheap chairs, "Tell me."

"Tell you what?" Ant echoed dumbly, hoping to god that he wasn't expected to admit anything to his nosy friend.

He couldn't. He didn't remember anything. They'd been at a club, celebrating something or other that Greg wanted to commemorate and he'd come face to face with Frey and Cameron practically having sex in the bathrooms. Not something he wanted to see really. They'd been over for nearly a year, a very long, very lonely, year and he'd hoped that he was over him. Seeing that he'd instantly gone back to the bar and managed to drink himself into amnesia suggested that maybe he wasn't.

"Anthony Fisher, if you don't tell me who took you home I swear I won't talk to you until you do!" Greg pushed, pouting very much like it was his right to know it all.

"I don't know," Ant sighed, biting his lip.

He really didn't as well. He remembered drinking way too much, recalled the barman telling him he should slow down, he had vague flashes of memory where some six foot Adonis approached Greg and talked him into a dance and then…Nothing. Absolutely nothing.

"You don't know?" Greg repeated in disbelief, "You have sex for the first time in a year and you don't know?"

The next memory he had was of waking up in one of the cheapest hotels in the city, about five seconds walk from the club, and he was alone except for the worst headache he'd had in years. His clothes were all over the room, all ripped or broken, he'd lost a shoe, there were condoms all over the floor (literally, they must have had sex about ten times…then again maybe they'd just broken a few) and he felt more sated than he ever had in his entire life.

"I was so drunk I can't remember anything past you going off with that guy," Ant shrugged, not sure what else to say.

"You, Anthony," Greg growled in frustration, "Make me want to strangle you. Oh, don't forget to have a shower as soon as possible. You reek of sex."

With that he dumped his coffee mug in the sink, or at least, amongst the dirty plates and cutlery overflowing from the sink and stomped out, calling over his shoulder that it Gavin had called. Ant rubbed the bridge of his nose. The last thing he needed was-

Too late. Greg's music blared out from his room and Ant clenched his jaw at the pounding. Greg just had to do it didn't he, he had to gloat about the fact that he didn't, ever, get hangovers. Ant flicked the kettle on and glanced at the door. Greg was nowhere to be seen. He grabbed the pen clipped the calendar and opened his shirt.

He'd been shocked as hell when he walked into the bathroom at the hotel and seen the telephone number carefully written in eyeliner on his chest. It was the only lead he'd had though so instead of showering he'd rushed home so he could write it down somewhere safe. Once the number was safely scribbled on a scrap of paper he wrapped his shirt back around him and went to the shower, smiling to himself. He might not remember it, but the night had definitely been good. Not even Greg playing his awful club music at full volume could change that.

Greg on the other hand hadn't had a good night. Once he was showered and Greg had stopped sulking they'd found their way to the kitchen and Greg was doodling on the morning newspaper while Ant washed up the ridiculous pile of washing up. They tended to leave it all to the weekend and by Saturday morning their dirty crockery was starting to colonise itself.

"I remember he was good looking," Ant admitted, glancing at his flatmate, "Surely that was a bonus. Didn't you like him?"

"Looks aren't everything," Greg retorted with a lazy grin, eyes darting to Ant, "I slept with you didn't I?"

"Ha ha ha," Ant replied, turning back to refilling the sink. He might play it down but comments like that hurt more than Greg realised. Greg only had to look at guys in clubs and they seemed to fall all over him, whereas Ant knew he wasn't the most attractive. He was actually a bit of a geek if he was honest. Not athletic, lanky and he often wore glasses that he detested.

"He was rough okay," Greg explained after a moment, bright blue eyes dropping back down to the doodle, "He left bruises on my hips and that was just from dancing. Security had to wrestle him away from me when I tried to leave him."

"Are you okay?" he asked in concern, moving over to the table and perching on the edge, hand covering Greg's.

"Fine," Greg shrugged and pulled his hand away, leaning back in his chair, "I don't think you were there at that point actually. I think you'd gone. Hey, why have you stopped? Get cleaning."

"You are allowed to help," Ant pointed out reasonably, it seemed like he was the one that cleaned while Greg was the one that messed the place up. He was always finding Greg's junk everywhere.

"You seem to be doing a perfectly good job without me."

"Isaiah Gregory Walker, get off your bony arse and start helping."

Greg scowled at him, dragging himself to his feet and reluctantly picking up a tea towel. He hated his first name, and he hated that Ant used it to order him about like that, which was probably the reason Ant did it, it was the only thing that after all.

"I wish you wouldn't call me that," Greg grumbled, piling the dry plates up on the table, "I hate it."

"I like it. Isaiah isn't really a common name," Ant replied, passing him a bowl and grinning when Greg's eyes glinted. There were very few times he could get Greg worked up.

"If you value your health then you'll forget that I ever told you."

"What if I started calling you Izzy for short?" Ant pushed and Greg blinked at him.

"I don't think anyone has ever called me Izzy," he admitted, tilting his head to the side thoughtfully, "It was always Greg by my friends and Isaiah by the family."

The incredibly irritating overly religious family that liked to visit or ring him and tell him about how he was living in sin. They were convinced that the two of them were shacked up and having sex every minute of every day. The only person that Greg/Izzy seemed to have had a remotely nice relationship with was his grandfather.

"So is that your permission to use it?"

"I don't know," Greg shrugged, placing the bowl down and looking at him, "I suppose."

"You don't have to sound so enthusiastic," Ant muttered, a little downtrodden. He'd put quite a bit of thought into giving his friend a nickname that only he could use and lame as it was that was the closest he'd got to anything that he liked.

"It's fine Ant, it's just going to take a little getting used to," Greg reassured him and dumped the towel down to start putting plated away in the cupboard.

Ant smiled at him and Greg returned it, his attention going to the radio when one of his favourite songs came on. As he hummed along Ant let his thoughts go to the brief flashes of memory he was getting, images of a black haired bed partner from the night before. He has a feeling that song had been playing when they were sat at the bar.

"We should redecorate."

"Huh?"

"Where are you? Planet mars?" Izzy snorted, whipping his arm with the tea towel, "This room is so old we should decorate it."

"With what money?" Ant questioned lightly, pointing out the thing that he knew his flatmate wouldn't have considered.

"I get my student support loan at the end of the week. We'll buy some paint and do it ourselves, customise things," Izzy decided, tone suggesting he wasn't going to be budged and Ant hesitated.

"I'll pay half."

"With what money?"

"Very funny."

"I thought so too," Izzy grinned, putting away the last of the plates and starting on the cutlery, "Where are you going to get the money from?"

"My parents gave me some, they said something about not being able to support me because of Gavin and his kid so they gave me one lump sum and that's the end of monthly support payments."

"How much?"

"Why do you need to know?" Ant asked warily and Izzy fluttered his eyelashes at him with a sweet smile, "A thousand."

His flatmate's blue eyes boggled and he stared at him, as if not able to believe that and Ant rolled his eyes. It wouldn't take long for his friend to be borrowing money and trying to get him to pay his rent for him. He always scraped around at the end of the month for money. To give him his dues though he was very good at struggling through considering he had no financial support from anyone in his family.

"Did I tell you that Gavin called this morning?"

"Yeah," Ant pulled the plug, watching the disgusting water drain down the plug hole, "Do you know what he wanted?"

"Something about moving in here with us," Izzy shrugged, not looking impressed with the idea at all, "I told him that I'd rather die than share this place with him and he said that seeing as you pay more rent than I do that it was your decision."

"I only pay more rent because I have the bigger room and stay here all year whereas you go home in the holidays," Ant frowned, not happy. The thought of sharing with Gavin was about as attractive as chewing his own arm off.

"Tell that to him. He thinks it means you own more of the flat than me."

"I'll talk to him," Ant sighed and turned the taps on, again filling the sink up, "We need to start cleaning up after ourselves during the week and not leaving it until the weekend."

Izzy grinned and sidled up to his side, rubbing his nose against Ant's ear, "Don't you enjoy our cleaning sessions?"

Ant laughed at the overly cheerful tone and elbowed Izzy in the ribs, shaking his head as he smiled. Yes, he did enjoy them, but that was just because they got to spend time together and catch up, both of them were so busy during the week that they often missed each other and sometimes didn't see the other for two or three days.

"Fine," Ant glanced at him, smile still on his face, "You win. But if we cleaned up then we'd have this time to laze around and watch films."

Izzy shrugged and went about his jobs, humming along with another son on the radio and dancing a little to the beat. Ant recognised it as one of the songs that had definitely been played the night before and an image of the black haired guy flashed through his head again, this time they were kissing at the bar. Well at least he could definitely be sure that the person he went to the hotel with was male. It'd be just his luck that he'd drunkenly slept with one of the fag hags at the club.

"What's this?"

Ant looked around at him and blinked at the scrap of paper Izzy had picked up from the window ledge.

"That's the telephone number of whoever I went off with last night," Ant admitted after realising that he had to answer truthfully or he'd lose his only clue.

"You said you didn't know!"

"I don't," Ant insisted, drying his hands and reaching out for the paper, "That was written on my chest in eyeliner."

"Oh."

Izzy looked at the piece of paper and after a moment, handed it over to him, eyes wary, "Are you going to call?"

"I'm not sure yet."

"Don't you want to know who it was?"

"I don't know."

"You should," Izzy pushed, grinning at him, "You obviously had a good time with him and if he left his number then he enjoyed himself too."

"You really think I should?"

"Better than moping around after Frey for another year."

Ouch. Ant watched as Izzy dropped the tea towel down on the table and sat down, returning to his doodling and he sighed. He couldn't help that it had taken him a long time to get over the person that he'd been in love with. He slipped the scrap into his pocket and made a vow that he'd at least call, nothing else had to happen if he didn't want it to.