They say life goes on. Eventually, everything will be fine. Sometimes life doesn't go on. Fuck it, does it really ever? Nah, Bovver's no expectation. It's been three months. Three fucking months, mate. They, hooligans, have been pretty lost. Bovver was Petey's right hand, yeah? He might've made a mistake or two, so what, others still had respect towards him. Well, who wouldn't after what he did for Pete that day. Even Bovver can admit it to himself, his ninja kick was about the coolest thing he has ever done in a fight. Anyways, the whole firm is sort of waiting for Bovver. To take the lead. To get Abbey fine. To get the GSE back together. East London had run out of Dunhams. It was Bovver's turn.

Bovver knows it. Of course he does. Abbey was still in pieces. Terry had kind of started to fix shit, but it's hell of a job for one man. West Ham lost that game, by the way. One-nil. It was a tough one. It felt like a bunch in the face after you've had one straight in your bollocks. Not like Bovver cared anymore. No need to say there was another fight in the evening. Bovver didn't feel anything in that night.

Tommy was in jail. Had been ever since. Matt had called the cops, or some passer-by, who knows. After Pete died, Bovver dragged him out of there. Sat next to him for hours, watched the cops pick up the pieces of both GSE and Millwall. He had a beer, gave one to Pete, too, and talked. About the game, about GSE, about the fighting, about what happened when he visited Millwall. About how much he loved him. Pete was his brother, come on.

Mrs. Dunham always said Pete and Bov weren't biological brothers because nobody could handle the boys together. So God made them best friends. They've had their ups and downs like everybody else. Swill even said they act like an old married couple. But that's kind of true, yeah? In sickness and in health, in poverty or in wealth, until death do us part.

It had been quiet. Mostly because the football season was over. GSE was torn apart. Steve, the Major, was still recovering. Bovver visited him regularly. Mostly, they just sat on the couch and Bovver smoked. It wasn't exactly the best thing to do, but what is? To keep going on? That's the most ridiculous piece of advice Bovver has ever heard.

It was hard to give Pete away. It was Bovver's fault. He made his bed, he had to sleep in it. It felt like he had to had fucked in it. It went too far. Stupid Tommy. Stupid Pete. How the fuck he got the idea that pulling Tommy's son in this would be a good thing? Stupid arsehole that Pete. He was a smart lad, unlike Bovver. Bovver had always been the right hand - not strong enough, not good-looking enough, not brave enough, not clever enough, not leader type enough. Pete always said that they were in this together. Ah, fuck it, Bov was never more than just a hand. A handful of trouble, usually.

But nobody loved Petey like Bovver did. And Bovver betrayed him out of, what, jealousy? Yeah, he was jealous to Matt. A yank appears out of nowhere and, boom, suddenly he's like Pete's protégé. What the fuck, man? Then Bovver suddenly looked like the bad guy. Come on, he was used to be on Matt's place. The one who Pete always took care of. The one who was there for him. The one who would get his ass saved by him. The one who actually felt like he belongs here, like he's family. Fucking Matt, man.

Bovver's bitter, he knows it. It's okay. Bitterness is a part of grieving progress. Bovver doesn't believe in that shit. He never did, he never will. Nobody ever died in a fight on purpose, hardly anyone died in a fight at all. Tommy had done it on purpose. It had frozen up everybody but Bovver. He still remembered it.

Petey, his brother, lifting his head up a bit, then laying down again, not saying a word. Nobody fucking does anything. Bovver yells, screams. Fucking do something. You fucking arseholes, do something. Bovver holds Pete's hand. It's bruised, a bit swollen, just like his face. Nobody does anything. Come on, Pete, wake up. We're gonna get you fixed up, huh? Come on, Pete! Bovver doesn't know what to do. For a brief moment, he just sits there, watching Pete's face. He looks calm. He didn't exactly got his revenge. Bovver would get it for him. Bovver fucking would. Someone yells. They keep on fighting. Bovver cries. He holds Pete, sort of hugging him. For the last time ever.