Brian’s POV Justin’s studio isn’t exactly in the greatest of neighborhoods. My old loft was only about ten blocks away from here, believe it or not, but his building is local, just off Tremont at the worst end with factory buildings off in one direction and the art community in the opposite direction. And he goes a college off in another neighborhood with drug dealers lining every block. In fact, he was just on the outside of a Hispanic gang block. Justin really knows how to pick ‘em, eh? Examining his building, I wait for the elevator as it begins rattling its way down to me. The building is old; built in the early 1940’s, maybe late 1930’s, is my guess. By the way it’s structured; it was originally some kind of hotel in the beginning. The place definitely has seen better days, though it seems like someone’s trying to fix it up, probably under new management. The halls reek of fresh paint. But in my opinion knocking the place down would be the best thing to do. Tremont is okay for the most apart during daylight, but at nighttime is a different story. And this part Armour is not exactly safe at any time. I have no idea why Blondie would have a studio in place like this. I would try to knock some sense into him if I wasn’t upset with him for lying to me. Why the fuck didn’t he tell me Gus was my son?! Doesn’t he know? Of course he knows. Why didn’t Michael say anything about taking Gus in? And where the fuck are the dikes? They can’t be dead. You would think Michael would mention something like that. Christ, if it wasn’t for that little shit in my car… Fuck! I’m going to find out what is going on, and I’m going find out right now. The elevator squeaks to halt, and I get into it. The metal box carries the lovely aroma of cat piss. God, I should have just taken the stairs, because the ten flights I’d have to walk up are looking better every second. Ah, fuck it. I hold my breath and hit the button for his floor. After walking through a zing-zag hallway, I reach the end to where 1018 is. I pound my fist against his door. The sound echoes down the hallway. Nothing. I begin pounding harder taking my frustration out on door and my hand. “Justin,” I grumble. Why the fuck isn’t he answering his door? Is fucking deaf? This is the right apartment… isn’t it? I look at the number, 1018. Fuck, he isn’t here. Running my left hand through my hair, I examine my right which is swelling up a bit. “Need some help?” “I thought I told you to stay in the jeep,” I say bitterly, slowly glaring in the kid’s direction. He shrugs with a smirk, “I thought you could use some help. Looks like I was right.” “He isn’t here,” I tell him, getting ready to leave. “You want to bet?” “No, I don’t want to bet,” I snort. “I want to get the fuck out of here with jeep still in one piece.” “You know you are even sexier when you’re upset,” he coos, licking his lips. “So I’ve been told,” I snicker. “Now, you said something about Justin being here?” “Well, since you asked so nicely.” He pulls a key out of his pocket. “You have a key?” I state in disbelief. “Yup. Aren’t you glad I tagged along,” he grins as he unlocks the door. “After you.” I roll my eyes and walk into Justin’s dingy studio. He definitely has an artist touch. The place is mess, but an organized mess, at least to an artistic eye. Art work litters the room. There are clippings from magazines on one wall. A few paintings hang on the walls as well, but mainly they linger on the floor bordering the walls. I’m amazed by his talent. One dark painting, which is nailed in between two of the windows, has imagines of shattered pieces of glass. Each piece of glass reflects an image of something, but the pieces together form an incomplete image of a young man who stares at you no matter where you stand. The eyes scream softly of un-forgiven pain and sorrow. I wonder what his past could have to cause it. The emotion in it is breathtaking. It is clearly a self-portrait of Justin. “The Breakdown. Justin hates that painting, but every time he tries to get rid of it, he can’t. He says it hangs there to remind him of his past. I think it’s kind of spooky, but it’s rad in a freaky cool kind of way,” the teen explains. “So should I go into the bathroom and tell Justin that we’re here?” As I finally look away from painting and turn to the kid, I hear, for the first time, the shower running for behind a door of what appears to be the bathroom. “No. He’ll come out eventually.” “Okay, if you’re sure, because isn’t like I haven’t seen him naked before,” he remarks, flopping down on a mattress that lies on the hardwood floor off to the side of a tiny kitchen. I arch an eyebrow in his direction. “So have I.” “What!” He gasps, “When?” I just give him a sliver of a smile, and turn around to find myself face to face with me. The painting sits on an easel in the corner on the opposite of the hall to bathroom. I walk over to it. Blondie had captured me with one of my infamous smirks. The painting was simply done with rough edges colored in grays and black. The paint is still wet, very wet. I grin widely, despite myself. Someone has been thinking about me. I’m touched. Suddenly the squeals of the water line come to abrupt stop. A few seconds later the creaking of the door handle echoes lightly, and a naked, damp Blondie walks out rubbing a pale blue towel through his hair as he walks to his closet not realizing he has company. My dick wakes up instantly. God, he’s wet twinkie dream. Realizing my mouth is hanging open; I quickly shut it and fold my lips inward, pressing my tongue against them. “Jesus, Jus. What the fuck happened?” cries out the kid as he climbs to his feet and makes his way to Blondie. Startled, Blondie says, “Shit! Hunter, don’t scare me like that.” He pulls out a pair of underwear out of the closet and slips them on. “Sorry, but how did you bruises? They’re fucking nasty looking.” And they are. They’ve gotten even more colorful throughout the day it seems. “Umm, I fell down. Is Michael down in the Toyota?” He asks pulling on a slim fitting green shirt. “Nope. He went to get Gus. So we came to get to you,” he explains. Blondie nods in understanding. Then he asks, “We?” “Brian and I.” His body stiffens at the mention of my name. “Brian… is here?” he questions coldly. “Right behind you, Blondie,” I state. He doesn’t bother to turn around. Instead, he pulls out pair of blue jeans and socks from closest before closing the closet door. “Hunter, can you go get Ethan?” Ethan? For fucks sake, do I have the word “taxi” in neon blinking across my forehead? “Yeah, sure.” The teen, “Hunter,” leaves, and Blondie continues to ignore me as he heads back into the bathroom, shutting the door swiftly behind him. I take one glance at the painting and then make my way to Blondie. The door isn’t locked, and I invite myself into the small white and yellow bathroom. Blondie is hovering over the sink fixing his hair. I can feel his icy stare reflecting off the mirror, but I pay no attention to it as I lift up the toilet seat. “What do you think you’re doing?” he demands. “Taking a piss, Blondie. What the hell does it look I’m doing?” I unzip my black jeans and pull out my penis. “Can’t you wait?” “Nope,” I remark as I take aim and pissing into the bowl. He huffs a sigh of disgust. I don’t have to look at him to notice he’s shooting short glances in my direction, checking me out. “Like what you see there, Blondie?” I ask in snarky tone. He shakes his head and exits the bathroom. A smile spreads across my lips. I finish up my business in the bathroom and find Blondie tying his shoes. “It’s quite a cozy studio you’ve got here, and in a peachy neighbor I might add,” I comment. He glares up at me and then looks away, saying nothing. A picture catches my eye, and I pick up a framed photograph of sonny boy. Shit, the little fucker does kind of looks like me; at least he looks more like me than Mikey or Blondie over there. I sigh putting the picture back. “Why didn’t you tell me Gus was my son?” I inquire, my tone serious. There is a short pause before he finds his voice. “He’s not your son,” he coughs bitterly. I’m bit surprise at his harsh tone on the subject. Shouldn’t I be the one who is upset here? What’s up his ass or should I say, isn’t? “That’s not what a little bird told me,” I mock. “Well, I don’t care what Michael told you,” he sneers with eyes of anger. “He is not your son.” “But yet, I’m still his father,” I snap. “No, you will never be a father to him,” he chuckles dryly. Then with a coldness that could freeze the air, he explains, “No one who abandons a child has any right to claim them.” “I didn’t abandon him.” “Really? Just like you didn’t abandon Michael and everyone else,” he challenges. I scrape my tongue against my cheek. “Were you there when he was born and welcomed him into this world?” Blondie is relentless. “Were you?” I bite back. “Yes, a matter of fact I was,” he spats, shaking his head angrily. “You have no right to call him your son. You lost that right when you walked away four years ago. Maybe we aren’t his flesh and blood, but Michael and I have been there for Gus every day of his life to love and care for him unconditionally when he lost family he should have had from the beginning.” He pauses for a moment as though he’s lost in memory, but he quickly snaps back to reality. “Then again, those families aren’t always what they’re cracked up to be.” There’s a bit of sarcasm in the last sentence which makes me think that Blondie didn’t have the greatest of childhood. Then again, who the fuck does? My throat feels dry. My voice cracks not sure if I really want to hear his answer, but I have to know. “What exactly happened to the munchers?” “Munchers?” he questions a bit puzzled as his anger subsides for a moment. I clear my throat. “His mothers. What happen to them?” “Didn’t Michael tell you?” he inquires a taking a step back. “Clearly not, or I wouldn’t be asking, would I?” “Well, I…I think you need to ask him about that,” he mumbles. “But I asked you,” I reply. He stares at me for a long moment. “I don’t think it’s my place to…” “Justin,” I pinch the bridge of my nose. “Just tell me,” I demand. He looks away biting his lip. His mouth opens to speak, but shuts it before making a sound. “Whatever to you may think or believe, I did care about them. Well, for Lindsay anyway. Mel I couldn’t care less for.” He snorts, “She felt the same way about you.” I smirk and nod. Mel and I were always at each others throats. Neither one of use could really stand the other. I let out sigh. “Please.” Please? Where the hell did that come from? “Justin, I need to know.” “You don’t deserve to know,” he coughs. “Maybe not,” I say. “But would you tell me anyway?” “And why should I?” “Because you are a better man than me,” I confess honestly. Blondie is stunned and searches my eyes. I find myself lost in the two seas of blues before me. I can see a change in them, and he breaks eye contact, focusing instead on a spot on the floor and closes his eyes. Justin’s POV “Oh my God! Hold on, Mel. I’m on my way. Yeah, I’ll meet you there. Bye.” He hangs up the phone. “Shit!” “Is something wrong?” I ask, knowing full well something was. “My friend’s having a baby. I need to get to the hospital.” “Wow.” Shit! “Congratulations,” I force a smile. This is not how I thought the night would go. I should have just stayed home tonight and lived with the fact that I’m going to die a virgin. “I guess I should go then,” I state even though I didn’t want to go. Where was I going to go to? “Go?” He frowns, “Where? I thought you said you didn’t have a place to go tonight, and you are soaked head to toe.” “It’s okay. I’ll…” “No, it’s not okay. Look, why don’t you come with me. I mean you could borrow some of my clothes, and we could throw your clothes in the dryer.” “Are you sure?” “Yeah, I am. Plus, my mom would kill me if something happened to you. Hell, she’d kill me if you just were to catch a cold.” I smiled. Debbie is weird, but I kind of like her. “Okay.” ) = ( Michael paces in the waiting room. He is nervous and excited. You would think he was the father, but he isn’t. He told me it’s his best friend; Brian– I think that’s his name. It was probably the same Brian that Debbie was talking about at the diner. Where is this Brian anyway? I sigh. I hope no one I know sees me dressed in this purple Captain Astro t-shirt. God, it makes me look all of twelve years old. But the shirt is dry and smells like Michael, which I try to remind myself. Then there are the lesbians that crowd the waiting room with us. In fact, Michael and I are the only two males in the room. Which I’ll admit was a bit intimating at first, but like Debbie, they have adopted me. All are assuming Michael and I are couple though. It probably doesn’t help our case that I’m obviously wearing his clothes. After a while, we gave up trying to correct them. Women. No matter what you tell them, they are going to believe what they want to believe. Women are fickle that way; especially, my best friend Daphne. Man, I could almost hear her laughing at me already about the situations I’ve gotten myself into tonight. I shake my head. I wonder what Michael thinks about everyone assuming we’re a couple. Are we a couple? Was supper at the diner our first date? Did he want to be in relationship with me? Do I want to be in a relationship with him? I look up and lock eyes with Michael. We share a smile. Michael’s cute, funny, and kind; and even though he’s a lot older me, he doesn’t act like it. He is clearly still a kid at heart, easy to talk to. I like him. I feel safe with him, and I’ve only known him what… a little over three hours? I mean, I don’t think he would hurt me. So I was kind of was hoping he would my first. Maybe he still will be… that is if we ever get out of here. He did say I could stay with him tonight. There is still hope, and I’m hanging onto it. Michael comes over and sits next to me. “This is taking forever,” he pouts. “Yeah… It took my mother 18 hours before she had my little sister,” I tell him. And with that thought, all my hope goes out the window. We’ll probably be spending the night here. “18 hours?” he gasps in shock. “You’re kidding, right?” “Afraid not,” I say sadly. “I hope it doesn’t take 18 hours. I’ve got to be at work by eight.” “Where do you work?” I ask curiously. “I’m an assistant manger at the Big Q.” “You know I’ve been never been to a Big Q,” I admit. “Never?” he gasps again. “What can I say? I had a deprived childhood. ” “Clearly.” He shakes his head. “I can’t believe someone has never been to the Big Q. Even Brian has been to the Big Q a couple times.” “Maybe I’ll go to one some day and see what I’ve been missing.” “You should do that. In fact if you go, go to the one off 6th street, and I will get you an employee discount.” “Okay, you’ve got yourself a date.” A date? God... I feel my face turn red. Michael throws me a concerned look, but he could say anything a doctor burst into the room asking for him. They both disappear through the flapping, doors leaving me alone with the women. After a half hour passes, I begin to wonder if Michael is ever coming back to save me. The lesbians decided to surround me the minute Michael departed from me, making me their entertainment. They continue to fuss over me. A couple of them wanted me to father their child. And one, Anna, even read my palm. She said I had a very creative, passionate, and stubborn soul, and with it I would go far in whatever I set my mind to. Also, she said I have a long, strong love line. I’m destined to find my match, not just my lover but my soul mate as well. At least, that’s what Anna said. Then the topic changed from me to their sex lives. It’s all too much to bear for my young ears. I say a silent prayer that something will happen to take me away from these dirty women. And my prayers are answered just as Michael walks through the doors. Thank, God! I smile wide until the expression on Michael’s face comes into focus. The smile drops instantly from my face, and I know something bad has happened. Fearing the worst, I quickly make my way to him wrapping my arms around him. He cries into me, and I hold him tighter, never wanting to let him go. “Justin?” I feel a hand on my shoulder. I open my eyes to find myself staring at the wooden floor. It takes a moment for my surroundings to sink in. Brian’s warm hand moves to my chin and pulls me to face him. There seems to be concern in his hazel orbs. It is bit unnerving. I don’t know why he wants me to tell him. Why didn’t Michael tell him when he... Maybe Michael didn’t tell him about Gus. Even so, shouldn’t he be asking him, not me? Does he feel that I owe him? But still... I pull my head away from his touch. I take in a deep breath and let it out. “There was internal bleeding. The doctors couldn’t stop it. She died shortly after Gus was born. Melanie had a complete melt down. She was screaming that she was going to sue everyone and have the hospital shut down if it was the last thing she did. But it wasn’t,” I explain with a sigh. “I don’t think she could stand looking at Gus. It caused her too much pain. She claimed she no longer wanted him in her life. Melanie begged Michael to promise to take care of him for Lindsay and her. When Michael agreed, she took off. Hours later, consumed by her grief, she overdosed in her home. We buried both of Gus’ mothers in the same week.” “Why didn’t anyone...” “Try to contact you?” I finish for him. “No one knew where you were exactly in New York, but it seemed to everyone that you meant it to be that way.” I look back over at Brian. He seems to be trying to digest what I just said to him. His glassy eyes remind me of Michael back on that day, and I have the urge to wrap my arms around him. Without another thought, I reach my arm across his back and begin to rub circles with my hand against him. He shuts his eyes and lets out a heavy sigh. Then to my surprise, he leans into me with his overwhelming weight. “Ah... Brian...” I utter. His eyes jerk open and a single tear rolls down his cheek as he looks up at me. For a moment or two, I see Brian. Not his pretense of a cocky asshole, but a scared man clinging to his fears. I don’t know what think, feel, or say. Brian pulls himself up, barely inches away from my face wanting, needing, and asking for permission to... Despite myself, I answer him by closing the gap between us, connecting our lips for chaste kiss before pushing him away. Shit! I quickly get up putting as much as space possible between Brian and me. My mind begins to race as my pulse starts to pick up the pace. Fuck, what the hell is wrong with me? I hear Brian get up and move towards me. I panic. I hear my heartbeat beating against my eardrums now. The room feels like it’s slowly closing in on me. My breathing gets heavy. I have to get the hell out here. I bolt grabbing my keys on the way, not bothering to look Brian. Before I’m able to grab the door knob, the door swings open with Hunter and Ethan on the other side. “Justin?” “Are you okay?” Hunter asks. “Yeah, I’m fine.” I explain hastily. I move passed them, quickly making my way down the hall. “We’re going to be late to Debbie’s if we don’t get a move on.” ***Edited by The Slash Faerie.***