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It was almost completely dark, only a sliver of moonlight coming through the heavy curtains at the end of the hallway, as a sleepy Justin quietly tiptoed towards the bathroom. He was trying to avoid stepping on the squeaky floorboards that had the unfortunate ability to wake up the whole house, carefully making his way alongside the wallpapered wall. He started violently at a burst of noise against the window behind him, yelping out as his heart almost jumped out of his chest. His breathing was ragged as he turned around, watching the offending window suspiciously. The noise didn't come again, so Justin calmed down slowly, figuring he had just imagined it.

He turned back around and finally managed to reach his intended destination, entering the loo and locking the door behind him. He felt around for the light switch, flipping it on and then squinting his way towards the toilet to relieve himself. Before he could even pull down his trousers though, he heard the noise again - this time crashing against the door behind him.

His heart was beating in his throat as his breathing quickened again. What the hell was happening? He thought he could hear a soft voice saying something from behind the door, but he couldn't make out the words. Suddenly, the doorknob turned and Justin stopped breathing at the click of the lock. 

Just as he expected the door to open, a soft knock came instead. A crazed whisper accompanied the action, "Little pigs, little pigs, let me come in."

What the fuck?

The voice continued, teasing, "Not by the hair on your chinny chin chin? Then I'll huff and I'll puff and I'll blow your house in."

A hard slam against the door caused Justin's heart to palpitate as his fear-struck brain finally realised what was happening. He was locked in a fucking horror film bathroom with a psychopathic axe-murderer trying to blast his way through the door.

Another loud crash came, the feeble door splintering, and Justin couldn't help but wonder how it was possible that all the noise didn't wake up Debbie and Vic, both of whom were sleeping on the same floor.

Another crash and the blond realised he was most likely going to die. An axe to the head, how wonderful. He felt sorry for Debbie, who would most likely be the one to find him with a split head, and for his mother, who had told him time and time again that the ‘gay lifestyle' he had chosen wasn't healthy. His father would probably stand smugly over his grave, repeating ‘I told you so' in the same suffering tone he had used that time a seven-year-old Justin had insisted on riding his new bike without the training wheels and had immediately fallen down and scraped his knee. And then there was Brian, who probably wouldn't even care that he was dead. Justin could almost see the moment Debbie or someone else broke the news to the stud, saying, "Justin's popped his clogs." Brian would just raise his eyebrow and ask, "Who?"

Or maybe not. It was possible he would remember the twink that had caused his flat to be burgled and hadn't even attempted to pay him back.

Another crash against the door caused a large hole to appear in the wood, and Justin knew what was coming next. A young Jack Nicholson stuck his shaggy head through the opening, a crazed look in his eyes, and opened his mouth to deliver his signature line.

"Justin? Justin, Honey, wake up."

The blond's brow furrowed. He was pretty sure that wasn't how it went in the film.

"Sunshine, wake up," someone was whispering next to his ear, finally penetrating his nightmarish haze.

Justin opened his eyes slowly, blinking away the sleep, coming face to face with a man standing over his bed. He let out a bloodcurdling scream and scrambled up to press against the headboard of his bed. It was only then that he realised his overactive imagination was playing tricks on him, and what he had thought to be the bringer of his demise was in fact just a cardboard cutout of a man in a superhero suit. He let himself calm down a little bit, feeling someone squeezing his hand caringly, and his eyes finally focused on the red-headed matron sitting by his side.

"Debbie," Justin sighed, relieved.

"Sunshine," she smiled at him, worry clear in her eyes, "what's wrong? You look terrified."

The teenager shook his head, sweat-matted hair flying wildly around his face. "I'm fine, just a bit of a bad dream."

The waitress raised an eyebrow at him. "Well, it sounded really horrible, Honey."

Justin shrugged, not meeting the woman's sincere gaze. "Nightmares often do look worse on the outside," he lied, banking on the fact that Debbie wouldn't actually call him on his bullshit.

He was in luck because the redhead just gave him a disbelieving look but didn't comment further. She just sat there by his side and held his hand in a comfortable silence until he was back to breathing slowly and regularly and his eyelids were heavy with sleep again. The whole time Justin was thinking how weird of an experience it must be for the gobby woman to sit still and quiet for such a long period of time. 

In the end, he didn't remember when or how exactly he actually fell into a restless sleep again.

 

Come morning, after he'd finished his normal routine, the blond sat in Michael's room, watching out the window for his friend. When Daphne turned onto Debbie's street fifteen minutes later to pick him up, he immediately noticed her car. He climbed down the stairs, avoiding the creaky step, and trudged out of the house, shutting the door quietly behind him as not to wake up a still sleeping Vic. He then checked three times to be sure he had locked up after himself. Debbie had already left for the diner earlier that morning, and Justin wanted to be sure no one could just walk into the house uninvited and abscond with all their valuables. He really didn't want to earn a reputation as an irresponsible tenant and get kicked out of his home for the third time in his short life.

"Thanks, Daph," a bleary-eyed Justin rasped out as he staggered over to her car and climbed in, "I know it's really out of your way to swing by and pick me up. Not sure I could have dealt with the bus this morning and still get to class on time."

"What's wrong?" Daphne asked in concern. "You're too young to have bags under your eyes."

The blond buried his face in his hands. "It's so fucking embarrassing. I had the most horrid nightmare about The Shining's Johnny coming after me, and I woke the house up with my screaming."

Daphne reached over to pat him on the knee, carefully pulling away from the curb, before saying, "That's not so bad, Jus. Perfectly natural, considering what you've gone through since the burglary. Debbie wasn't upset with you, was she?"

"No, she was great," Justin responded, "but the whole thing made me feel like such a silly little faggot." He added bitterly, "Like a five-year-old who couldn't stop crying till his mummy made his boo-boo better by giving it a kiss."

"Jus," the young woman chided sympathetically, "cut yourself a break. A robbery isn't the same as a scraped knee. It's a huge invasion of privacy; of course you'd be upset."

"Yeah, I know," the blond acknowledged as he finally lifted his head from his hands and leaned back in the seat. "It just didn't help that, when she woke me up, I thought I saw Jack Nicholson looming behind her. I let out a shriek worthy of a teenaged girl."

"Hey!" Daphne protested, "I am a teenaged girl."

"Shit, sorry, I didn't mean, like... you," Justin scrambled to erase what he'd said. "I meant, you know, like a fourteen-year-old or something. I thought for sure Deb was gonna clasp me to her bosom, say ‘there, there', and tell me to cry it all out."

Both teens chuckled over Debbie's excessive mother-henning before Justin admitted ruefully, "I felt like a right prat when I realized what I'd taken to be an axe-murderer was actually a giant placard of Captain Astro."

"Who?" Daphne asked in bafflement.

"One of Michael's comic book heroes," Justin stated dismissively.

"A giant placard of-" Daphne stopped herself, closing her mouth sharply. She decided not to comment any further, since she had nothing nice to say.

When the two teens finally arrived at St James a bit later, Daphne parked her car in the last available spot at the far end of the student lot. The teens dashed to their lockers, where Justin was relieved to discover a white dress shirt and one of his school ties, both wadded up at the bottom of the locker. The shirt would have to be laundered before he could wear it, but at least he had a spare now. The microfiber fabric of the tie was barely wrinkled, so he quickly swapped it out for the cheap polyester imitation he'd purchased the previous day. He sighed when he discovered that the only book in his locker was Remarque's All Quiet on the Western Front, which they'd already read in English Lit.

"Here, Jus." Daphne nudged Justin and handed him a notebook. "I had an extra and thought you might want it."

Justin let out a gusty sigh as he closed his locker. "Thanks, Daph. I forgot all about basic school supplies when I went shopping yesterday." Sheepishly, he asked, "Do you have a pen I can borrow?"

As the two friends trotted toward their classroom, a grinning Daphne handed her friend a plastic pen and pencil pouch with purple glitter glue splashed across it. "That's my spare. Keep it as long as you need."

With a grimace Justin opened his mouth to ask if that was really all she had to offer, but Daphne was already holding up her own pouch which was covered with smiley faces and sunflowers. "We can swap if you want... Sunshine," she giggled.

Justin implored, "Couldn't you at least have one with Patrick Swayze on it? Some eye candy?"

"Swayze?" Daphne protested in confusion. "Wasn't he in that really old film about dancing?"

Justin almost whacked himself on the forehead with the offending pencil case at the ‘old' reference. If Brian hadn't invited Michael over to watch that movie several nights ago, he would have mentioned a more current film star. Remembering the way Brian had chanted the lines along with Swayze had brought that actor to the forefront of his brain. Fuck! Now he was thinking about Brian and his burgled loft again.

Before Justin could come up with a suitable retort, Mrs Rose, who taught both English and German and doubled as the school librarian, called out, "A moment please, Mr Taylor."

Justin waved Daphne onward to their calculus class as he halted in the middle of the hallway. "Yes, Frau Rose?" Justin responded politely, using the title that he knew his former tenth-grade English teacher preferred. Justin had his doubts that she'd ever been married but figured it was none of his business. Frau Rose was the one teacher who had remained cordial after he'd been outed as gay. Most of the other faculty were still civil, if mildly disapproving.

"Has something happened to your uniform?" she asked sternly, although the twinkle in her eyes indicated she wasn't all that upset. "Your ensemble isn't entirely convincing."

Justin opted for honesty, speaking quietly so that other students rushing to class wouldn't overhear him. The blond explained the flat where he'd been staying had been burgled and that he wouldn't have access to his uniform until the police released the apartment to the owner. He avoided going into detail and didn't reveal what had happened subsequent to the robbery. Unfortunately, neither Justin nor Frau Rose noticed Chris Hobbs lurking behind the door of a nearby classroom that wasn't in use during the first period on Mondays.

"I won't write you up for the infraction," Frau Rose replied before warning, "but others may not be so lenient. You'd best stay out of sight as much as possible."

Justin nodded solemnly since he preferred not to consider how some of the teachers would respond if they caught him out of the proper uniform.

"It appears that you don't even have a backpack," Frau Rose continued sympathetically as she tapped her index finger against her cheek. "Stop by the library later today. I'm pretty sure I have something you could use in the meantime. Go on now," she shooed him away, "I know you don't want to be late for your first lesson."

"Thanks, Frau Rose!" Justin beamed at the librarian before dashing toward class, skidding on the slick floor, and then sliding into his seat next to Daphne.

Mr Dixon had already started taking roll, but other than an annoyed look as Justin burst into the classroom didn't acknowledge the blond. When he called out ‘Mr Taylor,' Chris Hobbs piped up, "Here and queer!"

Justin swiveled around in his seat to castigate Chris but was unable to utter a word before the jock maliciously criticized, "He's not wearing his uniform either."

The math teacher scowled and ordered, "Indeed? Stand up, Mr Taylor."

Fucking jock thought he was the cock of the walk, Justin muttered to himself as he complied.

Dixon looked Justin up and down carefully before sneering, "Is that your idea of proper attire for St James, Mr Taylor?"

Certain that explaining himself to his homophobic teacher would only get him in more trouble, Justin simply replied, "No, Mr Dixon."

The ferret-faced math instructor tore a pink slip from a small notebook and commanded, "That's a week's detention for you, Taylor."

Justin opened his mouth to protest but quickly shut it again since he didn't want to be stuck in detention even longer for mouthing off. 

"That starts today, Taylor," the teacher declared as the blond stepped forward to accept the offensive piece of paper and then resumed his seat. "Don't try and skip out. I'll let Mr Bauer know to expect you."

Clenching his teeth to prevent himself from arguing, Justin realized he'd never make it to the diner on time for his shift. He'd have to borrow Daph's mobile and call Debbie to let her know that he'd have to start an hour later than planned for the entire week. It irritated him to make such a poor impression when Deb had been nothing but kind to him.

When class ended, Justin asked, "Can I use your phone, Daph? I need to let Deb know about the change in my schedule for the week."

"Sure. Be quick though, okay? I have to hoof it across the school grounds to my next class," Daphne responded as she dug out her mobile.

Justin tugged at his hair in frustration when he realized he didn't know the number for the diner. Dialing information, he asked them to patch him through to the Liberty Diner. Deb was busy serving the late workday breakfast crowd, but he left a brief message with Kiki so that the waitress would know he needed to start his shift later. He would figure out how much to tell Debbie on the way to the diner that afternoon.

The young man tossed the phone to Daphne with a shouted "Thanks," and they hurried in opposite directions - Justin to his Latin class and Daphne to her psychology lesson. Justin enjoyed himself for the next hour as he immersed himself in his foreign language elective. He'd wanted to learn the language of the Italian masters, but St James didn't offer Italian - just the standard French, Spanish, and German in addition to the less popular Latin, mainly for students interested in medicine and law. Justin was glad he'd listened to his advisor about Latin providing an excellent foundation for other European languages, particularly Italian. He'd almost written it off as a dead language, as most of the other students at the private Catholic school had done. He was now in his fourth year, engaging in complex dialog with the three classmates who'd stuck it out as long as he had. 

Justin made it through the rest of his morning without anyone else critiquing his makeshift uniform. Hobbs didn't utter a word when he rejoined Daphne and Justin for the fourth class period of the morning. That didn't surprise Justin since Ms. Gallagher gave short shrift to students who interrupted her government class for any reason. She believed all students should be well versed in modern politics and able to provide succinct, rational arguments to back up their opinions. Hobbs didn't exactly excel at that.

 

Meanwhile, Brian wasn't having a much better morning. He had been woken up at half five by Melanie, who dropped a stinking Gus down on his chest and told him to take care of the little present. Brian had tried getting out of it at first, loudly reminding the butch lawyer that he was a mere sperm donor and not their nanny, but he had no success. Melanie just went about her morning routine, completely ignoring his mithering, and Brian had to capitulate in the end and change the little tyke. It had nothing to do with the gummy smile that lit up his son's whole chubby, little face when he picked him up. Not at all.

Living with the lesbians was a pain. Not that he had spent much time actually cohabitating with them in the past two days - with the exception of the previous morning he spent playing with Gus, he'd barely come home to sleep. The time that he did spend in Muncherville, though, was filled with Lindsay blathering on about how fulfilling it was to be a stay-at-home mum, Melanie complaining about her sexist coworkers, and Gus spitting up all around the place - seemingly aiming specifically for Brian's designer shirt. A designer shirt that he couldn't afford to get dirty, as after the burglary, he didn't have anything other than the Zegna on his back. He'd have to go shopping soon.

After that rough wake-up call, a sleep-deprived Brian had refused Lindsay's sleepy offer of breakfast and instead headed to the diner. He had arrived at six o'clock on the dot, the opening time, and received a raised eyebrow from Debbie for his troubles. She had kept throwing him weird looks the entire time he was working on polishing off his whole wheat toast, several times going as far as to almost snarl at him when he asked for a coffee refill. It was safe to say, he had been glad to leave the diner in the end and head to work.

Then at Ryder, he had been nearly assaulted by his personal assistant the second he entered his office. The blonde woman had grilled him on details about the burglary - her interrogation more thorough than the interview with the bulky policeman. 

"So you're saying it must've been a professional job?" Cynthia had asked with a contemplative twitch of her eyebrow.

"Yeah, they cleared the whole place out in just a few hours," Brian groused.

The woman had nodded, her expression unsure. "Then how is it Justin's fault?"

Brian thought he had entered a different dimension. "Didn't you hear me say the brat forgot to set the alarm? How does that leave you with any doubt about his fucking role in this?"

His secretary sneered at him sarcastically, "And I suppose he also went and tipped off a group of professional flat burglars as to when and where they should act." She had paused, her facial features forming an exasperated expression. "Don't you see how ridiculous that is? The guys clearly cased you out first and then waited till the loft was empty, so they could make their move - where exactly does Justin come into it?"

At which point, Brian threw her out of his office, not wanting to listen to reason. And reason it was, he had to admit. Cynthia was probably the first person believing in Justin's innocence that had actually provided valid arguments to support her claims. Not that he was convinced, of course; he was still sure that had the little dipstick not left his alarm unarmed, the burglars wouldn't have managed to get in.

Now, after letting him stew for two hours, the devil herself entered his office again, carrying a thick pile of papers underneath her arm. Brian sighed at the sight. "Tell me that's not the O'Connor contract."

Cynthia dutifully complied, "This is not the O'Connor contract."

Brian snorted. "It is the O'Connor contract, isn't it?" Upon Cynthia's nod, he continued, "Our legal department should take some sort of efficiency course if that pile is what came out of my fifteen minutes with Miss O'Connor the other day. The woman is a wimp; she didn't even have any special stipulations to add to the contract."

His blonde assistant chuckled, slapping the paper pile on his desk. "And yet, here are a full sixteen pages. Have fun reading, boss."

Brian shot her a glare, seriously considering signing the contract without reading it for the first time in his life. It wasn't like he actually had to - that's what their lawyers were for - but he was in the habit of reading everything he ever put his signature on, no matter how many legal beagles had gone over it before him.

The brunet looked up from the contract to see Cynthia had yet to leave his office. She was standing in front of his desk, arms crossed and a determined expression on her face.

"Was there something else?" he half-growled, throwing his hands up in a 'what now' gesture.

"You speak to Justin yet?" she replied with a question of her own.

Brian grew even more frustrated. "Not that again. I've told you what the score was with that twink. I refuse to discuss it further."

Cynthia shot him an annoyed glare. "I don't understand why you're being so hard on him. The burglary wasn't his fault - in fact, he must be feeling violated too. You should've heard how distraught he was on the phone."

Brian stood up from his chair, aghast. "Violated? He's feeling violated? They didn't even steal anything of his, Cynthia!"

The blonde stood her ground. "That doesn't matter; someone still breached his privacy. They entered his home, touched his things-"

"My home!" Brian interrupted in a harsh tone, "It was my home that was broken into and my things that were stolen." He was working himself up into a right fit of rage. He was the one who was supposed to feel violated - what with over seventy percent of his possessions gone - and yet everyone was trying to make him feel guilty about blowing up at Justin? Well, fuck that. He had a right to be angry at the person who'd caused the whole predicament.

"Brian," Cynthia chided in a calm tone, "be reasonable."

The brunet gritted his teeth. "I am being reasonable, Cynthia," he growled, "and I'd thank you not to question me. Now go back to your desk; I'm sure you've got work to do."

The blonde seemed a little taken aback, not used to Brian treating her like a stupid secretary that didn't know her place. "Yes, sir," she retorted, shoulders squared and tension around her eyes, before she turned on her heel and strode out of Brian's office.

"Fuck," the ad executive breathed out, frustrated beyond belief. He was furious that his personal assistant dared to challenge him, angry that he was missing some of his most prized possessions, pissed at the fact that he hadn't fucked anyone worthwhile in days, and irritated that he had to go through a sixteen-page-long contract.

Brian stared at the offending pile, trying to burn a hole in it with just his gaze. "Fuck," he repeated when he wasn't successful at incinerating the paper. "Fuck," he swore again for good measure, breathing heavily.

He quickly realised that he needed to calm down or he wouldn't be able to work productively. Or at all. And ever since he'd been fourteen years old, a surefire way for him to calm down was to orgasm. Brian looked around his office, unsurprisingly discovering there were no tricks around just waiting to be fucked. His hand it was then.

The brunet walked over to his office door, making sure it was locked, and closed the blinds. He then sprawled over the two-person leather couch in the corner of his office and opened his trousers. He spat in his palm in substitution of lube and proceeded to slowly jerk himself off. He sighed as he felt his cock slowly swell up and harden.

"Yeah," he grunted quietly, stroking himself up and down with a tight fist. His hips involuntarily jerked up when he added a twist of his wrist at the top of his shaft. A soft moan escaped his lips, and Brian sank deeper into the couch cushions as he let himself get lost in the sensations.

He imagined he was somewhere else, preferably somewhere with hot hunky tricks and no bloody paperwork. Somewhere he could get undressed and a plethora of men would fall over themselves just for the chance to give him a handjob. He could almost feel someone else's hand replacing his own, squeezing his hardness rhythmically. The soft hand ran a finger up the underside of his cock, teasing the pulsating vein there, before circling the head and putting soft pressure on his slit. Brian moaned at the feeling of pre-come leaking out, easing the slide of his palm. He tried to massage that sensitive spot on the underside of the head, just like Justin always did to him, but whined in frustration when the angle was awkward and he couldn't achieve the same sensation. How the flaming heck did the twink do it? Shouldn't he know his own dick better than Justin?

Brian rolled his hips again, squeezing his dick more tightly in his fist and quickening his pace. He let out a breathy curse, imagining it was Justin's capable hand that was pleasuring him and trying to massage the spot again. It worked out better this time, though it still wasn't perfect, and Brian gasped. He was getting close.

Why the fuck couldn't he stop fantasizing about Justin? Brian wondered, as he'd wanted nothing to do with the twat since the burglary. Frustrated at having Justin dominate his thinking, the brunet consciously dismissed him from his mind, firmly gripping the base of his erection with his other hand and increasing his pace again. The squelching sound of his hands sliding over sensitive skin reached his ears, and Brian's breath caught in his throat as he felt himself nearing the edge. Just a few more strokes and he'd be there. A few short jerks of his hand was all it would take.

Just as he was about to finally come and release all that tension, there was an insistent knocking at the door. "Brian?" came Cynthia's voice, "your ten o'clock is here."

"Fucking shit," Brian growled as he came in a completely unsatisfactory orgasm - Cynthia's voice coming right from behind his door ruining it for him. He watched the thick white spurts of come splatter across his hand and stain the soft material of his trousers as he mentally ran through his notes for the upcoming meeting. He felt himself tensing up again in preparation. So much for jerking off.  

 

At the same time at St James, Justin winced as his side came into contact with the door jamb as the students were leaving their American government class. Hobbs, who had shoved him against it, smirked at the blond as he stalked off. It pissed Justin off, but he gritted his teeth and didn't retaliate either physically or verbally. He just wanted to make it through the school day so he could head to the diner. His energy was already flagging, and he had three more classes - followed by fucking detention - after lunch.

When Daphne opened her gob - probably to yell some choice words after Chris - Justin shook his head at her, shrugging in resignation. "Don't, Daphne," he pled; "it won't help."

Daphne begrudgingly shut her mouth before suggesting, "Let's grab something to eat. I bet you'll feel better after you fill up that bottomless pit of yours."

Justin dredged up a tepid smile for his friend before admitting, "I don't know if I could keep anything down, Daph."

"You have to eat," Daphne urged him, taking Justin by the arms and shaking him gently.

"Grab something for me and meet me at the bleachers in half an hour?" Justin asked, making an effort not to let his shoulders sag. "I need to stop by the library and see which of my textbooks I can check out."

"You'd better be there," Daphne threatened playfully, "or I'll feed your lunch to the squirrels."

Justin chuckled wryly, enjoying a moment of humor in what had been a fairly bleak day. "Would that squirrel happen to be named Glenn Reeves?" he teased.

A blushing Daphne ordered "Scram!" and pushed Justin in the direction of the school library.

 

Frau Rose smiled up at Justin when he stopped in front of her desk a few minutes later. Pulling out a black tote bag with the motto ‘Omnia mea mecum porto' emblazoned on the front in white lettering, she queried, "Will this do until your backpack has been returned?"

A broad smile crossed Justin's face as he viewed the bag. "Maybe I should permanently replace my backpack," he mused aloud as he took the tote bag from Frau Rose; "this one is mint."

"You understand the quote then," the woman commented, a pleased smile on her face.

Justin gave her one of his signature sunshine grins. "I take Latin," he explained, "though I think that almost anyone of a moderate literacy would know what the motto means."

Barking out a laugh with her eyes sparkling devilishly, Frau Rose asserted, "You'd be surprised, Mr Taylor. Perhaps you should keep track of how many students ask you about it."

"And faculty?" Justin queried with a smirk.

"Abominatio!" the librarian declared in dismay while shaking her finger at Justin. "If, however, any teachers do ask for a translation, you'd best tell me so I can lend them some books and ensure they achieve at least a moderate literacy," she finished with a conspiratorial wink.

After another shared chuckle, Justin pulled out a list of his textbooks. "Could I borrow these if you have them in stock? I'll return them as soon as my backpack has been released," he stated earnestly.

Frau Rose took the list and browsed the shelves marked ‘faculty only' where teachers stored extra copies of required texts for their classes, usually with the stipulation that the books could only be used in the library. Quickly pulling seven books off the shelves, including two workbooks, she scanned Justin's student ID and then the bar codes in the books. "I'm afraid Mr Dixon only supplied one copy of your calculus text," the librarian mentioned regretfully, "and we're required to keep at least one of every textbook assigned for the academic year in the library at all times." 

"That's okay," Justin responded, pleased to be able to check out books for so many of his classes, "Daph's going to lend me hers, which will tide me over till midterm exams." After looping the handles of the tote bag over his shoulder, he added, "If you need any of these, just let me know, and I'll bring them back right away."

"I'll do that, Justin," the woman replied with another warm smile.

Justin fidgeted nervously as he debated how to express his appreciation for her support - which, in his experience, was pretty much a rarity at St James - without turning into a weepy mess. Looking directly at his former teacher, he declared, "I'm really grateful for all your help, Frau Rose." 

"I want you to succeed, Justin," Frau Rose assured her former pupil. "I also want St James Academy to prosper, and I don't see how that can happen if we don't advocate for all our students."

His bag packed with most of the textbooks he needed and his heart warmed by the librarian's kindness, Justin waved farewell to Frau Rose and hastened to meet Daphne. The weather had been fairly mild for early November so they wouldn't freeze if they sat outside, and no one was likely to hassle them if they nipped under the bleachers for an after-meal cigarette.

Justin scarfed down the sandwich Daphne had handed him, half-listening to her angrily expostulate about Chris and how he'd bullied yet another student in the cafeteria, knocking the kid's tray out of his hands and making derogatory remarks. She ranted on, making ever more improbable suggestions about how they could help the bullied students.

"Let it go, Daph," Justin wearily urged her. "Hobbs is so deep in the closet that he's attacking anyone he remotely suspects might be gay to deflect attention from himself."

"But, Jus," Daphne implored as she grabbed her friend's hands, "someone has to stand up to Hobbs."

Justin let out a bitter chuckle. "Didn't you notice how well that worked out for me this morning?"

"You can't just give up," Daphne insisted, squeezing Justin's hands more tightly.

"I'm not giving up, but I am being realistic," Justin retorted. "I'd start a gay-straight student alliance if I weren't sure that the administration would immediately put the kibosh on it. Let's just help each other get through this nightmare of a senior year."

"But..." Daphne spluttered for a while before finally conceding that Justin was probably correct, that they couldn't effect change at St James, no matter how much they wanted to. Her shoulders slumping, she leaned against Justin, who wrapped an arm around her waist.

"C'mon, Daph. I need a cigarette." Justin stood and pulled Daphne to her feet before they both moved under the bleachers. Daphne pulled out a pack of Camels, and they smoked in silence for a few minutes.

After taking a drag from her Camel, Daphne suggested, "Hey, how about if I return your sweats now, Jus?" Her voice conveyed her regret for his predicament as she admitted, "With you in detention and my mum needing the car, I won't be able to give you a ride home."

"Yeah, okay," Justin agreed. "Fucking detention," he grumbled as they walked to Daphne's car.

Daph nodded in commiseration as she reminded him, "It's only for four days, Justin, since school is closed Friday for the Veterans Day holiday."

"Friday can't come soon enough for me," Justin stated in an exhausted voice before continuing, "doesn't seem like this week is ever gonna end, and it's only Monday.

"I'll do whatever I can to help you," Daphne responded sympathetically. "I wish I could give you a ride every day, but..." she trailed off helplessly, "my parents refuse to buy me a car since I can share my mum's."

"I don't mind taking the bus," Justin replied with a shrug, "it's not as if I wasn't doing that anyway. Brian couldn't drop me off most mornings, and he could hardly take off in the middle of the afternoon just to pick me up."

"I'll give you a ride whenever I can," Daphne offered. "I'll just ring you in advance, or tell you at school if I can drop you off after classes."

"Thanks, Daph," Justin acknowledged as they reached her car, "giving me a ride today was a huge help."

Daphne unlocked the Honda Civic, leaning over to grab the sweats from the back seat and inconspicuously sniffing them - perhaps to see if, in spite of washing them the previous day, they retained the faintest hint of Justin's body odor. "They're clean," she assured Justin as she handed the sweatpants to him.

Justin didn't notice Daphne's subtle inhalation and accepted the sweats with another ‘thank you', stating hopefully, "Maybe I'll have my other clothes by Monday, if the police release the loft to Brian before then. I could really use my uniform."

"Do you think Brian will take your things to Deb's house?" Daphne asked.

"Who knows?" Justin replied with a dejected huff, "He's not even speaking to me right now."

"He cares. I know he does," Daphne consoled Justin up as they headed toward their physics class.

"I used to think so," sighed Justin, "but he believes that actions speak louder than words, and his actions..." Justin didn't finish the statement, fearing that might make it true - that Brian really didn't care about him any longer.

As they were pulling out their physics' textbooks a few minutes later, Daphne exclaimed, "Oh! Here's my calculus book. You still want it, right?"

"Yeah, thanks," Justin confirmed before murmuring; "naturally, Dixon only gave Frau Rose one copy for the library reserve shelf, so I wasn't able to borrow it."

"You can keep it all week," Daphne generously offered; "just make sure to bring it every day so we can share in class and prepare at lunchtime for our midterm on Thursday."

Justin grinned fiercely at his friend and proclaimed, "I'm gonna ace that test, Daph, mark my words. That homophobic tosser won't be able to blame my gayness for me not doing well enough in his class anymore."

After physics, Justin and Daphne exchanged a quick hug and split up again, Daphne heading off to her German class, while Justin rushed to the computer lab for his IT lesson. He would normally have been excited about his favourite class of the day, since they were learning computer graphics and animation this semester, but with detention looming, that wasn't the case this time. The whole lesson he was away with the fairies, not able to concentrate on his assignment at all. In the end, all he had to show for his efforts were two botched attempts at animating a walking human and a deep wrinkle between his brows. He logged off the computer with a disgusted sigh and then dashed along the hallway and down two flights of stairs toward the designated detention classroom.

Justin had never been sent to detention before, and he shifted nervously in his seat as he glanced around. He was in an ordinary classroom but it seemed a bit sinister, what with the whole detainment aspect. He'd been the first to arrive and watched as the other miscreants filtered in slowly, followed by Mr Bauer.

He idly speculated about what the other three student detainees had done to land in detention as they seated themselves near Justin. Did they think clustering together would afford some kind of protection? Justin wondered. He almost felt like he should warn them that sitting near the gay boy was more likely to make them targets for Bauer's spiteful wrath.

When he glanced at the girl sitting next to him, she looked vaguely familiar - fairly quiet and kept to herself most of the time if he recalled correctly. Maybe one of the scholarship students based on her slightly dowdy appearance.

A student that Justin thought of as ‘the chess geek' had claimed the seat right behind him. Although he didn't know the guy's name, he'd overheard him nattering on a time or two, talking to no one in particular, dissecting each and every move of a chess game that could have taken place a year earlier for all Justin knew. Not someone the blond had any desire to know better.

The final detainee, at the desk behind the quiet girl, was a freshman rumored to be a troublemaker. A light-fingered lout and a smart-aleck, allegedly. Justin only recognized the youngster because Daphne had once pointed him out in the cafeteria while sharing the latest goss. The kid clearly wasn't off to a good start at St James since he'd already been assigned to detention.

Justin's speculations came to an abrupt halt when Bauer demanded, "Place your backpacks under your seats. I don't want to see anything except your folded hands on top of your desks."

The teacher then made a big production out of taking roll call, "When I state your name, I expect you to immediately respond with, ‘Here, Sir!'" He unnecessarily tacked on, "Do you understand?"

Shit, the man sounded like a drill sergeant. Justin didn't dare show any disrespect and remained silent when Bauer stared directly at him as he called out each student's name.

Bauer sneered the final name, ‘Justin Taylor,' and Justin promptly replied with the requisite, "Here, Sir!" The bastard intimidated him, no question about it - and the others were cowed too, if the deathly silence was any indication.

The teacher looked quite gleeful as he warned all four students, "If you're tardy or don't adhere to the rules, you'll be assigned to another week of detention."

Bauer's intimidating behavior made Justin apprehensive as to what the man might next demand. Although the part-time athletic coach, part-time chemistry instructor, was known for ridiculing students and disciplining them severely, this exercise in humiliation still seemed excessive. 

With an effort, Justin tamped down his inner turmoil. He didn't know how he was going to survive a week of detention under Bauer's thumb, but he'd manage somehow. He forced himself to listen as Bauer spouted, "Each day this week, you'll spend the first half hour meditating about why you're in detention."

When the girl tentatively raised her hand, he barked out, "No questions. No interruptions. Just contemplation about what you've done wrong."

Rather than meditating about his purported wrongful behavior, Justin regarded his folded hands and lost himself in a memory of his fingers gliding over a lean, muscled frame and silky skin that was tanned a golden brown, eliciting the most delightful moans from the man sprawled out naked beneath him...

"Eyes front, Mr Taylor," Bauer ordered, rapping his knuckles against the top of Justin's desk, interrupting his pleasant daydream and yanking him back to the misery of detention.

Justin complied, while carefully maintaining a blank expression. The minutes ticked by with agonizing slowness, the students sitting still like statues and staring at the enlarged, laminated St. James' code of conduct, which had been affixed to the whiteboard.

After what could have been five minutes or half an hour - it was impossible to tell with time crawling by so slowly - a tapping sound came from the small window in the classroom door. Justin's head swiveled to the right, and he found the jerk Hobbs leering nastily at him, mouthing ‘queer,' and motioning with his hand as if he were jerking himself off.

"Eyes front, Taylor!" Bauer commanded once more. "If I have to tell you again, you'll be in detention for another week."

Justin seethed inwardly. He'd seen Bauer trade smirks with Hobbs before ignoring the jock's actions, intentionally displacing the blame to Justin. He dug his fingernails into his palms, almost breaking the skin as he strove to present an indifferent demeanor.

The movement of the second hand on the clock at the back of the classroom was the only sound to disturb the silence.

Finally, Bauer's nasal, grating voice broke the interminable silence as he placed a lined sheet of paper and a pen on each student's desk. "For the next half hour, you will work on an essay about how you're going to adjust your outlook so that you exemplify the character we expect of our students at St James." The heels of his black dress shoes clacked loudly against the linoleum as he tramped to the front of the room before pivoting and exhorting, "Reflect carefully as you compose your essay. Your stay in detention will be extended if you don't take this seriously."

Just as Justin was sardonically wondering what they were supposed to do if they needed more than one piece of paper, Bauer pompously offered, "You may have a second sheet of paper during detention tomorrow. If you craft your essay meticulously, you won't need more than one sheet today." He then clapped his hands together once and demanded, "Begin!"

Given the strictures, this had to be the most ridiculously bizarre essay Justin had ever attempted to compose. Don't write too quickly, or you won't look ‘thoughtful' enough to Bauer. Comply with and illustrate a code of conduct which didn't apply equally to all students. What a fucking waste of time.

Justin's brow furrowed as if he were deep in thought while he glared down at that innocuous piece of lined paper. He was a hairsbreadth from wadding up the page, throwing it down in front of Bauer, shouting, "This queer is out of here!" and escaping the building. Drawing in a deep breath, he willed himself to calm down and act maturely. He would hold out until graduation, and when he walked across the stage to accept his diploma, he would show all the homophobic jerks at St James as well as his parents that they couldn't force him to be someone other than himself. Placing pen to paper, Justin began to jot down what he considered to be drivel but would, he hoped, satisfy Bauer's idiotic stipulations.

When Bauer called out, "Stop," Justin heaved a sigh of relief. One day of detention completed.

"Bring me your essays and pens," Bauer ordered, "and then you can leave for today. We'll resume this meditation and writing exercise tomorrow."

The other students leapt out of their seats so quickly that they outpaced Justin in their rush to Bauer's table. Chess guy exited the room first, pleasantly surprising Justin. He'd half expected the dweeb to strike up a conversation with him, but maybe the dude had a tournament he was late to or something. Almost stepping on the geek's heels, the troublemaker hurried out of the room.

Justin was shocked when the quiet girl laid down her sheet of paper, which she'd folded into an origami dove, blue ink visible on its wings and chest. It took all his willpower to suppress a chuckle at the stupefied expression on Bauer's face. Setting his essay down next to the dove, he quickly exited the classroom.

He felt rather cheered by the girl's clever act of rebellion as he hoofed it toward the bus stop, desperate to get away from the school grounds.

 

Chapter End Notes:

 

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