Brian took a drag out of his joint and scowled at the red traffic light that was glaring at him. He had almost run the light in his haste to get to Muncherville but had managed to stomp on the brakes at the last moment. He'd probably left a strip of rubber on the asphalt, but no one would notice it amongst all the other marks on the road. Wondering why the weed wasn't relaxing him like it should, Brian sniffed at the reefer he'd rolled just before leaving the loft. It smelled like top-grade dope, so he probably just needed to inhale a few more drags before it took effect.

He'd been thrilled to discover that his stash had remained safely hidden in the cunning compartment he'd had installed underneath his ginormous, custom-made bed. Another boon was his toy box, which had been nestled in next to the weed and all those lovely, lettered pills - A, B, C, D, E, E, E - that made up his pharmacopeia. He felt himself tensing up all over again as he remembered he couldn't invite tricks over to his barren loft until the police had finished dusting for fingerprints and removed the crime scene tape, releasing the loft back into his care. To keep all his goodies safe and out of the sticky fingers of the gang, he'd have to stow everything in his safe deposit box at the bank. Brian slammed his hands down on the steering wheel in frustration since that meant he wouldn't be able to access his drugs or toys when he needed them. He scowled over at the passenger seat where, atop the toy box, he'd placed a detailed list of all his precious, stolen possessions. That, of course, included every single fucking thing in the loft except his bed and that blond brat's shit - his high-end furniture; his television, stereo system, and computer; his carefully-selected clothing bearing designer labels; even the bloody kitchen electrics and dishware - all gone.

Brian overshot Lindsay and Melanie's white-picket-fenced house, stomped on the brakes, and then reversed until he squealed to a halt directly in front of the trellis which arched over the pathway leading to their front door. He nearly gave himself whiplash as he shot forward onto the steering wheel, unintentionally pressing on the horn, and then fell back against the back of the driver's seat. Muttering about "fucking unreliable jeeps," he patted his jacket to make sure the extra joint was still in his inner pocket, snatched up the inventory list, and stormed toward the house. Brian didn't bother knocking, instead just threw open the door, which banged against the wall before flying back at him and nearly walloping him in the nose. "Lindsay," he bellowed irritably, "where the fuck are you?"

Sticking her head out of the kitchen with Gus cradled in her arms, Lindsay called out, "I'm over here, Brian. What are you on the warpath about now?"

Brian didn't deign to answer, smacking the list down onto the kitchen counter and slumping onto a stool, before pulling the fresh doobie and his lighter out of his jacket. He had to flick the blasted lighter three times before the flame steadied so that he could hold it to the end of the joint.

Lindsay scowled at him, waving a hand in front of her face to keep the smoke away. "You know, you really shouldn't smoke in here," she lectured, "Gus is here and I'm still breastfeeding."

Brian raised his eyebrows. "Not like I'm shoving the joint in his mouth, is it?"

His blonde friend waved her hand again. "Ever heard of second-hand smoking? He's breathing the toxins just as he would had you shoved it in his wee mouth."

The brunet was immediately irritated. "What's with the PSA? You sound like Justin."

Lindsay pressed her lips into a thin line. "It was Justin who told me. He even said that third-hand smoking is also a thing. It's when you have smoke clinging to your clothes and-"

"I don't want to hear it," Brian interrupted her with a raised hand. "I have bigger problems than a bit of tar in the air. My loft got completely cleared out."

That stopped her in her tracks. "What?" she breathed out.

"Justin left the door unlocked and someone took advantage. Everything except for our toothbrushes got nicked," he explained.

Lindsay patted Gus on the back soothingly. "I can't believe it, Brian, I'm so sorry. What are you going to do?"

"File an insurance claim and see how many months it takes before they cut me a check. I also have to wait for the cops to finish dicking around with fingerprinting the loft before they give me permission to move back in," the brunet groused, managing to sound remarkably like an unhappy Gus when he wailed. "Then I'll be able to sleep on my own bed - without my Egyptian cotton, 800 thread count sheets; a Krups coffee maker to brew my first cup of the morning; the Ironman treadmill for my evening jog; or the Vitamix blender to mix my creatine and soy shake."

"Oh, Brian, you say that like it's the end of the world," chided Lindsay. "It could've been a lot worse. Imagine if Justin had been at home; he could've been hurt."

The brunet muttered something indecipherable and Lindsay's face scrunched up in a frown. "Come on, Brian, it's not all that bad," she tried to cajole her baby's daddy into a better mood; "you know you're always welcome to sleep on our couch."

Brian gave her a humourless smile. "Right there amongst all the pussy hair?" he snarked, "no thanks."

Lindsay managed not to roll her eyes. "Believe it or not, Mel and I don't do it all around the house. Besides, we do have a hoover."

Brian winced. "So you did do it on the couch."

His friend huffed, "Honestly, Brian, you're acting like a child. Just sleep on the couch and be grateful that you have a roof over your head. And who knows, this might even give you and Mel the opportunity to get to know each other better. You're really a lot alike, you know."

Brian scoffed and then decided to ignore the garbage Linds was spewing and waved his list in front of Lindsay's face to distract her. "Did you hear me? I said every fucking single thing except for my bed is gone!"

Lindsay didn't even try to suppress her smile as she waved more pot-laden air away from her face, "It's not all that bad then, Brian, since that's where you do most of your entertaining, any road."

Brian refused to consider that she might have a point and railed some more, "They cleared out my loft, Lindsay! Furniture, TV, electronics, everything!" He waved the list in front of Lindsay's face again. "And on top of all that, twelve Armani suits, four Gucci belts, and six pairs of Prada shoes. You know, I'm starting to suspect gay on gay crime."

His blonde friend smiled cheekily at him. "Well, I wouldn't be surprised, since you have more visitors than Disney World," she said in her distinguished voice.

Brian shot her a look. "Thanks for the sympathy, Cinderella."

Lindsay shook her head, bouncing Gus on her hip. "That doesn't even make sense, Brian."

The brunet shrugged. "I'm off my game today, I'm experiencing some possession withdrawal symptoms. Do you think I could claim compensation for that too? I mean, those bastards even took all of my condoms!"

Lindsay bit her bottom lip, before pouting at Gus. "At least they're practicing safe sex, right, Gussy?"

Brian stared at her. "Hilarious," he deadpanned.

There was a beat of silence as Brian watched the blonde wipe Gus' face, cleaning away the milk dripping down the lad's chin. "So, why isn't he with you?" she asked suddenly.

"Who?"

Lindsay gave him an exasperated look. "Justin."

The ad executive slapped the stupid list down on the counter. "I don't know; I told him to get the hell out."

His friend stared at him in shock. "You sent him away?" she asked, as if she couldn't comprehend what he had said.

Brian glared at a spot over Lindsay's head. "Look, I did him a favour when I let him stay at the loft, and this is how he repays me. He should be glad I'm not asking him to compensate me."

The lesbian still looked horrified. "He didn't do it on purpose!"

"Would you please stop making excuses for him?" he almost shouted, banging his closed fist on the edge of the kitchen counter.

"Sorry," she said, not sounding sorry at all, "must be a force of habit."

Brian sighed. "Will you look over the list? I don't think I missed anything, but in case you think of something..."

Lindsay snatched the paper from the counter, grabbing a pen from a cup on the end of the counter. "Oh yeah," she said with a quirk of her brow, "there's one valuable item that's missing that can't be replaced."

Brian watched as she scrawled something across his list before sliding it back over to him. Six enormous block letters spelled out Justin's name diagonally across the paper. Brian felt a twinge of something in his gut - probably indigestion - and immediately suppressed it.

"Great," he said sarcastically, "now I'll have to rewrite the whole thing before I give it to the police."

Lindsay just left the kitchen without another word.

As Brian was settling down to sleep that evening, covering himself with an ugly patchwork blanket, Justin was hastening through the darkened streets of Pittsburgh toward the nearest bus station. He had been in such a shock from everything that had happened that day that, after running out of Brian's building, he had wandered around in a daze for a few hours, unable to think coherently about what he should do or where he should go. He had briefly contemplated catching a bus to Daphne's house, but that would have involved two transfers, which would've taken forever. It wouldn't be all that great a solution, any road, as Daphne would have had to sneak him into her room for the night in secrecy, lest the Chanders find out and freak. Had they discovered him there, Mr Chanders would undoubtedly have felt bound to report back to his dad, since the two men were longtime golfing buddies. They teed off promptly at eleven o'clock every Sunday morning at the country club and shared a pint or two afterwards, while they discussed the latest news. It was really a gossip session, but Justin remembered his father insisting that they debated over important social and economic topics. Justin had called bullshit then and he was calling it now, too.

He was brought out of his musings when he stumbled over a protrusion in the sidewalk, bumping into a leather daddy who was strolling down the sidewalk arm in arm with a flamboyant drag queen in a ruched orange dress. 

"Sorry," he mumbled as the queen reached out to steady him.

"No harm done, Cutie," the drag queen replied in a deep, Aussie-accented voice. She winked at him with long, false eyelashes and added, "But if you feel like company later tonight, ask for Marvella and DC at Boy Toy. We'd take good care of you," she finished suggestively.

Waving half-heartedly in farewell, Justin brooded that at least someone wanted his company. He knew that he was being overly dramatic, but he couldn't manage to escape the fog of misery that had been weaving thicker and thicker around him throughout the day. He did feel a little better than a few hours ago, though. He had been utterly depressed while sitting on a park bench, the sky darkening above him as he let the tears flow and released his anguish. He choked back the feeling of betrayal as he remembered Brian's reaction, his lover's angry words chipping away at his assurance that he had locked the loft as he was leaving for Molly's birthday party. He had gone over and over his memories of that moment, and every single time came to the realisation that he couldn't remember it clearly. He was so sure that he had locked Brian's loft and set the alarm right before he dropped his drawing of Molly, but Brian's certainty that it was all his fault had rattled him. 

Justin sighed forlornly, once again shaking himself out of his morose thoughts. He took out his cell phone, checking his screen for messages, and started when he noticed the time. It was already past nine o'clock. He picked up his pace, hurrying toward the Greyhound bus station, where he'd decided to bunk down for the night. It was a better option than sleeping in the park since he'd be sheltered from the cold of the night in the vestibule of the station.

His cell phone already in hand, Justin decided to ring Daphne. When she picked up with a, "Hey, boyfriend, what's up?" he had to smile in spite of his anguish. He could always count on his best friend to lift his spirits.

"Hiya, Daph," he greeted her with false cheeriness, "you, eh, you got time to meet me at the diner for brekkie tomorrow morning?"

"Sure, what time?" the bubbly young woman responded. "I mean, I have to check that my mum won't be using her car since my dad will be driving his to the golf course, but we can meet up for sure."

Justin didn't say anything for a moment, as a pang of sorrow and anger shot through him at the mention of golf. He remembered he had accompanied his dad to a game a few times when he was a wee kid. Those days were long gone. "Uh, I dunno, how about ten o'clock?" he quickly suggested when he realized Daphne was still waiting for him to say something.

His best friend hummed in agreement. "Unless my mum needs the car, in which case I'll call you back and arrange to meet later on." Daphne paused for a moment and then said in a quieter voice, "Justin, I'm sorry; I didn't think. That was clumsy of me, mentioning golf."

"No reason for you to apologize, Daph," Justin retorted, trying to sound nonchalant, "I should probably get used to the fact that Dad is an arsehole." He didn't know what else to say since he didn't think he could fake a good mood much longer, and he didn't want his friend to catch on and realise something was wrong. No sense in both of them worrying through the night.

Fortunately, before the discussion could get awkward, Daphne suddenly said, "Oh, I gotta go, Justin. I told my mum I'd help her make risotto for dinner."

"Okay, Daph, see you tomorrow," Justin reminded his friend before ending the call. He sighed. He knew something was really wrong, when his stomach didn't make the slightest rumble at the mention of food. He normally wolfed down three large meals per day, with snacks thwarting his hunger pangs in between meals; now, however, he kept remembering the burn of bile in his throat and couldn't possibly have eaten a bite without upchucking it right after.

A few minutes after ending the phone call, Justin reached the bus station. It took him about another twenty minutes to find an unoccupied bench - winos were kipping on two of them; and in spite of the late hour, visitors waiting to greet arrivals and passengers anticipating their departure had claimed almost all the other seating. In the end he found a little excuse for a bench, which wouldn't have been comfortable for many men or women, but his short, slender stature proved to be an advantage for a change. He scrunched his messenger bag into a makeshift pillow on one end of the bench and lay down on his side, drawing his knees in toward his chest. He fidgeted for a bit, the metal of the bench hard and cold underneath him. Finally, after several long minutes, he dozed off and lost himself in pleasant dreams of fucking Brian.

He woke up several times during the night, once because one of his legs fell off the edge of the bench, once because of a loud snore from one of the other itinerants, and twice shivering from the chilly air in the vestibule. It was no wonder that when he was awakened by a hand shaking his shoulder the next morning, he felt like shite. 

A strong stench of boozy, stale breath hit him in the face as he forced his eyes open. "You need to wake up, kid, and get outta here with the rest of us," a hoarse voice rasped in his ear. "Them coppers don't much care if we sleep inside here at night, but they clear us outta the way during the day. Ain't no sense in gettin' hauled in for no reason at all."

"Uh... what?" Justin croaked as he took in the stubbly, jowly face next to his own. The blond wondered if this was some kind of dream since there was no way this was a trick that Brian had brought home.

"Your first time here, eh?" the drunkard inquired, another whiff of his unwashed body and alcohol-charged breath flowing over Justin's face and clogging his nostrils.

When a bus pulled up right outside the doors, belching exhaust and adding to the miasma of odors surrounding Justin, he finally remembered the events of the previous day. "Uh, thanks for waking me up, mister," Justin said as he scrambled to his feet, hurriedly looping his messenger bag over his shoulder.

"You need a warm meal, kid?" his benefactor asked, also stumbling to his feet, having been crouched over Justin to wake him up. "Loaves and Fishes over on Trinity Way always puts out a good spread for breakfast. You can come with me if you want."

"That's okay. I'm meeting a friend for breakfast in a bit, but I appreciate the offer," Justin replied, nearly blinding the hobo with one of his sunshiny grins. What a nice person for a street drunk, he thought.

"Wow, that's some smile you've got there, kid," the wino stated as he tilted backward on his heels and almost fell on his ass.

"Oh, be careful!" Justin cried, grabbing the man's elbow, helping him regain his footing.

"No biggie. I've landed on me keister more'n once," the drunk averred with a gap-toothed grin. "Now, listen, lad. If that breakfast don't pan out for ya and you need someone to show you the ropes, you come back here any night and ask for Jed, okay?"

Justin beamed at the vagabond again and said, "I'll be sure to do that, Jed." Justin waved and started to leave the station before spinning around and asking, "Oh, do you need any help getting over to Loaves and Fishes? I can walk over there with you before meeting my friend."

Jed let out a raspy chuckle, "Nah, kid, I've been going there near every day for nigh on ten years, so I reckon I can find my way there again today."

"Okay, you take care of yourself, Jed," Justin told the man, stepping forward to clasp his hand and give it a sincere shake. He waved at Jed again and was heartened when he received a shaky wave in return. Justin was glad to make friends wherever he could, and the hobo's efforts to help that morning had done a lot to restore his faith in humanity. In fact, the old man had inspired him to face his situation and deal with it like an adult instead of running away to New York to become a go-go boy, an idea he'd briefly flirted with the night before. He would make a go of it, he muttered adamantly under his breath as he walked down Liberty towards the diner. Not only would he get a job so that he could take care of himself, he'd also pay Brian back for the burgled goods, even if it took him years to do so. There was no question in Justin's mind that he owed Brian for standing up to Craig with him and for providing a safe place for Justin to stay when he most needed it - and this was the least he could do to thank Brian for all his help.

It was only eight o'clock, leaving Justin plenty of time to reach the diner before Daphne got there, so he strolled along, stopping to look into shop windows whenever something caught his fancy. The only reason he noticed the shop with the narrow storefront was because of the vibrant fuchsia awning - man, but only Emmett could possibly rock that color, the blond thought to himself. Justin couldn't recall any store previously being in that location, but the swirling, purplish-pink lettering on the door proclaimed ‘Second Hand Job' to be Liberty Avenue's finest consignment shop, with ready-made clothing available to meet every need. 

"Well, I'll be damned if it isn't the young bloke from last night," drawled a tall queen wearing a lime-green wig in a broad Australian accent, while hanging a pink display dress on a peg in the front of the shop.

Crap, thought Justin, he had run into her and her partner the night before when he'd been so out of it, hadn't he? "Uh, hi?"

"You don't remember me do you?" she deflated visibly, "so much for thinking it was impossible for anyone to forget a dame like me."

Justin shrugged helplessly. "I'm sorry, I was a bit out of it," he excused himself, "but... uh, I'm very intrigued by your shop. I don't think I've seen it here before."

"We opened just last week," explained the queen before continuing, "Look, I'll tell you what, you stop by anytime and ask for Marvella. I'll help you find the right togs for any occasion."

Justin gave her the best smile he could muster. "Thanks, Marvella, I'll come back as soon as I have my first paycheck in hand," he promised. "Now, I need to get going, but I'll see you around."

"You're always welcome, Sugar. Bye for now," Marvella called as she turned to enter the shop.

Justin trotted on toward the diner, intent on fortifying himself with caffeine in case he met any more odd characters that day. When he finally reached his favorite greasy spoon, it was still just shy of nine o'clock, so he had plenty of time to pour a few cups of strong black coffee down his throat before Daphne arrived. As he entered, the bell above the door jingling, he looked around and was grateful that none of the gang were in this early on a Sunday morning. No judgmental whispers or sidelong glances for him yet then.

The blond was just sliding into a booth near the back of the eatery when an unmistakable voice screeched, "Sunshine, what are you doing here at this time of day?"

"Hey, Deb," Justin greeted her, pasting a smile on his face and hoping she wouldn't quiz him about the burglary. The last thing he needed was for her to spill the beans in front of the whole diner, and he couldn't imagine Michael keeping it to himself that Brian's teenaged stalker had finally got his comeuppance. Deb surprised him, though, joshing with him just like she would any other time. 

"Hey, Deb?" repeated the redhead in offended astonishment, "What kind of a pissant hello is that, Sunshine?" she asked, directing a dubious look his way before pulling him upright and enveloping him in a rib-cracking hug.

"Uh, Deb?" gasped Justin. "Oxygen?"

The colourful waitress didn't let up, though, and in the end Justin had to forcibly extricate himself from the life-threatening embrace. He tapped his forefinger against one of the buttons on Debbie's vest, "My balls are bigger than yours," he read, chuckling, "I think we all already knew that, Deb."

"Damn right, Sunshine," she cackled, tousling his hair lightly. "Now you come on over to your regular booth and tell me what you want for breakfast," she demanded, dragging Justin along by the arm and pushing him onto the upholstered vinyl seat.

"How about some coffee for now?" the blond suggested, "and I'll order breakfast after Daph gets here." Since the fiver in his wallet wasn't enough to cover a meal, let alone the allergy medications he desperately needed to replace, he was going to have to ask his best friend to lend him some money, like it or not.

"Hmpfh, you don't usually wait on anyone before ordering food to fill that bottomless pit of yours," Deb commented as she turned toward the counter to grab the coffee pot. "Why don't you start with some hash browns and scrambled eggs, and you can order more after your friend arrives?"

"I'm not really all that hungry, Deb," Justin lied, just as his stomach let out a noisy growl.

"Not hungry, my ass," Deb chuckled as she returned to the table, coffee pot in hand. She took a closer look at the blond teen and stated, "You really look like shit, Sunshine," before placing the back of her other hand against his forehead and adding, "You're a little warm. Are you feeling all right?"

Oh, fuck, Justin thought to himself, I must look pretty bad after spending the night at the Greyhound station. But what could he tell Deb to allay her concern and get her off his case? 

It turned out he didn't need to say anything since Deb didn't pause long enough for him to answer before claiming, "I don't know what Brian was thinking to let you go out like this, but I suggest you drag your bubble butt right back to the loft and crawl back into bed. You look like you're coming down with something."

When Daphne breezed through the door at ten minutes after ten, Justin was still protesting to Deb that he was perfectly fine as she refilled his coffee cup for the fourth time. Zeroing in on her friend, Daphne gazed at him in dismay, curling her upper lip and scrunching up her nose, before exclaiming, "What happened to you, Justin? You look like you slept outdoors or something." She held her hand up to cover her nose, "And geez, what is that smell?"

Deb chortled, "Eau de jizz, I'm sure, since Brian can't keep his dick away from Sunshine."

Justin wanted to sink under the table from mortification and just barely stopped himself from sniffing at his armpit to see if he really did stink. He feared he might be too congested to smell anything, though, since not taking his allergy medication first thing in the morning was already making his sinuses swell up.

While Justin was worrying over whether he had bad body odor, Daphne slid into the seat across from him, barely escaping a full-body hug from Debbie. His friend grinned cheekily at him and stated, "I'd order whatever you're having, but for some reason, you're not eating." She stopped talking for a moment to consider him and then reached across to take one of Justin's hands, brow furrowing with worry, "Hey, are you feeling okay, Jus?"

Now Justin wanted to bang his head on the table in frustration as he wondered what was up with the women in his life. Couldn't a guy go without food for ten minutes without getting mother henned to death? "I'm fine. I was just being polite and waiting for you before ordering," he muttered.

"Since when do you wait to eat?" Daph asked in astonishment. "I remember on my fifteenth birthday, you started gobbling down your piece of cake before I had even been served."

Justin blushed again, cursing his fair complexion which so clearly betrayed his embarrassment, and defended himself, "Yeah, er, I was hungry."

Tapping her fingers on the table, Daphne stated, "Case in point. I repeat, since when do you wait for me?"

Justin threw his hands up in exasperation, "Since today, okay? I do have some manners, you know."

Daphne looked at her friend skeptically before laughing, "We'll see how long that lasts. So, now that I'm here, what are we eating?"

Looking up at the redheaded waitress, who'd been enjoying their raillery, Justin said, "How about those hash browns and scrambled eggs you mentioned, Deb? Oh, and a side of bacon." As Deb headed toward the chef's window to submit their order, Justin called after her, "A couple of those blueberry waffles, too, please."

Daphne tugged on Justin's hand, which she still held in her own. "What's up, Jus? I can't remember the last time you wanted to get together so early on a Sunday."

Justin still felt reluctant about relating the whole tale, but at least he knew Daphne would be on his side and wouldn't blame him, even if he had been dumb enough to forget to set the alarm in the loft. After looking around the room to be certain no one would overhear him, he blurted out, "Brian's loft got burgled last night. When he came home, he accused me of not setting the alarm, and then he kicked me out."

"What?" Daphne yelled before lowering her voice, ignoring the looks the other diner patrons sent her way. "Slow down and say that again. I don't think I heard you right."

Justin slowly explained how he'd gone to Molly's birthday party, glossing over what had happened there, and then told her how, when he'd returned to the loft, the door had been ajar. At that point in the story, Deb delivered their breakfast, plunking down the plates and two glasses of orange juice. "You need to drink something besides coffee, and if you're coming down with a cold, a little vitamin C is the best thing for you, Sunshine," the motherly waitress opined. "What are you two looking so serious about, anyway? No doom and gloom on a Sunday morning, you hear?" She would have inquired further as to what was wrong, but a couple of queens at another booth started up a racket, so she traipsed over to them. "You'll be wearing your coffee instead of drinking it, if you don't calm down," she growled at them.

Daphne ignored her food and Deb's interruption, questioning Justin further, "What happened next, Jus? It must have been creepy to find the loft unlocked."

"Fuck, yes!" the blond responded, "I was terrified that Jack Nicholson was on the other side of the door, saying, ‘Come out, come out, wherever you are,' and waving an axe around."

Shivering in anticipatory horror, Daphne repeated, "What happened next?"

Justin wilted as he replied, "It was hellish, but not because of ‘Johnny' or any other axe-wielding murderers." Justin then proceeded to tell Daphne about the emptied loft, about how he'd called 9-1-1, and about Brian charging up the stairs with Michael behind him. He then sped through the detective's arrival and through Brian chucking him out of the loft.

Daphne gaped at her best friend when he finally finished, "But what did you do last night, Jus? Where did you go? Why didn't you come sneak into my room?"

"I didn't want to cause trouble for you," Justin responded earnestly; "we both know how your parents are. Besides, had I stayed with you, I'd probably be halfway to New York right about now." When his friend raised her brows expectantly at hearing that, Justin sheepishly mentioned his original scheme to support himself and explained how - after he'd slept in the bus station and met a kindly hobo in the morning - he'd nixed that harebrained idea. He also told her about his decision to get a job to pay Brian back for the stolen goods.

"So, how can I help?" Daphne asked, and Justin smiled at her gratefully. This was exactly why she was his best friend - she didn't lecture him; she didn't ask any unnecessary questions; she just wanted to do anything she could to make things easier for him. "You can stay with me for a bit?" she offered hesitatingly.

Justin looked at his friend sadly, "Thank you for the offer, but I still refuse to cause trouble for you, Daph. What I really need right now is to brainstorm ideas about how I can pay Brian back." Chuckling rather despairingly, he muttered, "My original plan to be a go-go dancer in New York probably wasn't the best of ideas."

"I don't know," teased Daphne, "I'd pay to see you dancing on a bar." She then added with a wide grin, "I recall you having some pretty smooth moves - from those ballroom dance lessons at the country club and all."

Justin chuckled at his friend's words, eyes boring into the tabletop, before rather desperately asking, "Could you lend me some money? I'll pay you back as soon as I can, but right now, I've just got five dollars in my wallet, and that's not even enough to cover my breakfast."

Intent on their conversation, neither of the teens noticed that Debbie had gravitated toward their table and was listening in for some time. They only realized she was there, in fact, when Deb slid into the booth next to Justin and wrapped an arm around his shoulders. "Kiddo, I'm so proud of the way you're handling this," she told him, "and as far as a job, you can work here at the diner. Our newest busboy didn't show up for his last two shifts, so you'd be doing me a favor."

"Deb, I don't have any experience," Justin protested. "Are you sure you really need another busboy? That you're not just saying that?"

Letting out a hearty guffaw, Deb retorted, "Of course not, Kiddo. I'm sure you'll be trained within a day and you'll be great. The salary doesn't amount to much, but I guarantee you, between your sunshine smile and that bubble butt, you are gonna earn some mighty fine tips."

"Are you really sure you want someone like me working here?" Justin asked quietly, unsure how much Deb had overheard. Looking down at his lap, he added, "It may be my fault that Brian's loft got burgled."

Deb took Justin's chin in her hand and waited until he looked her in the eyes before stating firmly, "Everyone makes mistakes, Sunshine; it's how you deal with them that matters."

Justin smiled a bit tremulously before asking, "When can I start?" his question overlapping Daphne's query, "Do you know of any place he could stay for the time being?"

Debbie chuckled, "Of course I know where Sunshine's going to stay; he's going to move into Michael's old room." 

Before she was able to add anything else, Justin interjected, "That's too generous, Deb. I, uh, I don't have any money yet to pay rent."

"Rent? Who said anything about rent?" Debbie shrieked. "Vic will enjoy having some eye candy in the house," she winked, "and maybe this will finally motivate Michael to clear out the rest of his stuff." Wistfully, she added, "Or maybe he'll take the doc up on his offer to move in with him."

Daphne muttered, "Go for it, Justin. Living with Vic and Deb will be a helluva lot nicer than any other accommodations you could find." When Justin opened his mouth, presumably to make further objections, Daphne added the clincher, "You'll be able to compensate Brian a lot faster if you don't have to worry about paying rent."

Deb beamed at Daphne and approved, "You listen to your friend, Sunshine. You won't have to worry about buying food, either, since I already cook enough to feed an army, and your food at the diner is comped when you're working, starting with your breakfast today."

Justin didn't have a chance to say anything before Daphne tried to hand him some money. "Here, I can lend you a hundred dollars, Jus. That should be enough to tide you over till you get paid."

The boisterous redhead pushed Daphne's hand away and declared, "You keep your cash, Honey. I'll give Sunshine an advance on his salary so he can buy some clothes and other essentials."

"Thanks, Deb," Justin stammered, feeling his eyes sting suspiciously as he was so overwhelmed by her kindness that he could hardly speak.

"That's all settled, then." Deb gestured toward the kitchen, continuing, "C'mon, Sunshine, let's get you an apron and you can start right away."

Embarrassed, Justin squirmed briefly before getting up from the booth and requesting, "Could I just go get my prescriptions refilled first, Deb?" Glad to have an excuse for his watery eyes, he reached up to blot at them with his napkin before using it to blow his nose. "I don't want the customers to think I'm going to infect them with something, when it's really just my allergies acting up."

"Skedaddle and get those meds, Sunshine," Debbie agreed, "but then hurry back so you'll be here for the lunch hour. That's when the queers of Liberty Avenue usually make their first appearance on a Sunday."

His chagrin increasing, Justin coughed, "Uh, could you give me part of that advance now so I can pay for the medications?"

"Sure thing, Kiddo," Debbie said, reaching into her apron and pulling out fifty dollars. "Will that be enough?" she inquired as she handed the money to Justin.

"That's plenty, Deb," the blond responded with a relieved smile. "It shouldn't take long since my pharmacy is just downtown. 

"You want to come with me, Daph?" Justin asked; "no need to drive me over there since it'll be almost as quick to walk."

"I'll pass, but I'll hold down the table for you so I can be your first customer," Daphne teasingly replied.

Justin was still chuckling over that remark as he exited the diner, double-timing it to the pharmacy because he was so excited to be starting his first job. His parents had always given him an allowance, his dad never wanting him to even have a newspaper route since he feared that would make it look like he couldn't provide for his family. This new job might not be the most glamorous ever, but the blond would be taking the first step toward providing for himself and paying Brian back.

At the pharmacy, Justin rushed up to the counter and asked how long it would take to refill his prescriptions. "You're in luck, young man," the gray-haired, bespectacled pharmacist answered, "it shouldn't take more than ten minutes since we have all three of these medications in stock, and there's no one in line ahead of you."

Justin had been irrationally nervous that the druggist would ask why he was refilling his prescriptions more than a week early - perhaps the man would think he was a junkie? - so he apologized profusely for getting the refills so soon and mentioned the burglary.

The pharmacist started laughing before he said, "Calm down; I've seen you many times before and don't think you're a crazed addict. There's a grace period allowing for early pick-up of refills. People have all sorts of legitimate reasons why they need their meds before they run out of pills."

"Thanks, Mr Tregennis," Justin stammered as he paid for the prescriptions and a bottle of water. Since there was no one else waiting to see the pharmacist, Justin didn't move away from the counter - pulling the medications out of the bag, taking a pill out of each bottle, popping them into his mouth, and gulping them down with water. Mr Tregennis looked on in amusement the whole while, until the blond youngster tossed the med bottles back into the bag and bolted out the door.

As Justin jogged back to the diner, he patted at his pockets, checking for his mobile. Where was the blasted thing? His moves became more frantic. He was pretty sure he'd still had it at the Greyhound depot, but maybe he dropped it after talking to Daph on his way to the station? Or someone nicked it. That would be just his luck - not have it stolen in the burglary only for some pickpocket to pinch it. When he couldn't find his cell phone after thoroughly searching all of his pockets, Justin fatalistically shrugged. It was an old model, and there hadn't been much credit left, so it didn't really matter much, he tried to convince himself. He'd just have to make do without it.

Half an hour after he'd left the diner, Justin rushed back inside, almost crashing into Debbie as she delivered a hot fudge sundae to Daphne. "Shit, sorry Deb," Justin apologized, "I didn't mean to barge in like that. I guess I'm just eager to start working."

"It's okay, Sunshine," Deb replied; "you're back before the lunch horde. Let me show you where to stow your stuff, how to refill the coffee machine, and what you'll use to clear off tables."

For the next three hours, Daphne alternated between reading ‘Out' and watching in fascination as Justin bustled around clearing tables, brewing fresh pots of coffee, and serving drinks to the lunchtime crowd. When the blond finally had a chance to stop and chat, she noticed he was rubbing his posterior. "Ugh," Justin murmured when he realized Daphne had caught him massaging his ass, "those two elderly queens who just left sure do have powerful fingers."

As Daphne realized they'd been pinching her best friend's ass, she began to laugh uproariously, gasping, "Well you can hardly blame them for wanting to grab hold of a juicy rear end like yours, Jus."

Justin frowned at first but then started to laugh, too. "I'm telling you, Daph; besides money, I've collected the most bizarre tips: pinches, slips with phone numbers, and - best of all - a new dildo." With a theatrical flourish, Justin pulled the bright red dildo out of the long pocket at the front of his apron and placed it on the table in front of Daphne. The unopened sex toy was still encased in a hard plastic covering, with a ‘The Promised Land' sticker in the corner, and had clearly never been used.

"Wow, Sunshine, you really scored," Deb called out as she came up behind him, "I've never been given a dildo as a gratuity." Examining the toy more closely, she exclaimed, "You can set this one to ten different vibrations, Sunshine!"

Both Daphne and Justin were blushing furiously by that point as more of the diner patrons clustered around the table to take a look. Justin had only meant to have a laugh with Daphne, not share his ‘tip' with the whole diner. He couldn't escape the ribbing though, what with Debbie's enthusiasm about his toy and various catcalls. 

Once the hilarity had finally tapered off and the crowd around the booth had dispersed, Justin asked, "Hey, Daph, could I borrow your calculus textbook for a couple days? The police have mine under lock and key at the loft, and I'm kind of worried about our upcoming exam." The blond admitted, "I've been struggling a bit, and there's no way I want that subject to ruin my 4.0 GPA."

Daphne scoffed, "Like you're going to earn less than an ‘A' in calc, Jus, although you might conceivably score 98 instead of 100 on the test."

"Yeah, well, I'd rather get 100 and thumb my nose at Hobbs and all the other brainless jocks who keep making my life miserable," Justin postulated with a cold gleam in his eyes.

"Those damned bullies!" Daphne bitterly exclaimed. "If it will help you show up Mr Dixon, that homophobic jerk of a math teacher, you can have my textbook for the entire week."

"I shouldn't need it that long, Daph," Justin reassured his friend, "since the police will either release the apartment back to Brian, and I'll get my stuff from him somehow, or maybe I'll be able to check out a copy from the library."

"We can share our other textbooks during class, but what are you going to do about your uniform?" Daphne questioned with a worried frown.

"I should have just enough money to pick up some used clothing that resembles our uniform this afternoon," Justin stated confidently, "so don't fash yourself about it."

Daph fidgeted with her coffee cup, looked down at the coffee table, and murmured, "I might have a pair of sweats at home that belong to you." She didn't dare look at Justin in case it dawned on her friend that she'd been holding on to the sweatpants because she had a crush on him. Even though she knew it was hopeless, she couldn't eradicate her infatuation, which had only grown stronger in the last year. She figured Jus now needed the sweats more than she did, though; he'd only lent them to her because someone had jostled her arm at school one day, causing her to spill her Coke all over her grey skirt. Justin had pulled the sweats out of his locker so she'd have something dry to wear.

"It would be great if that's the case. You could bring them to school tomorrow!" Justin enthused, apparently not remembering the Coke incident or else not thinking it meant anything for Daph to still have a pair of his sweatpants.

At that moment, Debbie yelled out, "Sunshine, if you clear off the tables in the back, we'll both be done for the day. I'll just close out the cash register and hand it over to Kiki. Then we can head home so I can show you Michael's old room and give you a key to the house."

With a bright grin, Justin claimed, "That sounds great, Deb." The blond then turned to his best friend, gave her a quick farewell hug, and promised to see her the next day at school before bustling toward the back of the diner.

Shortly thereafter, Justin followed Debbie into her house, the gobby redhead shouting out, "Vic, are you here?"

"What's all the fuss, Sis?" Vic inquired as he shuffled out of the kitchen, still clad in his pyjamas.

"Victor Grassi!" Deb shrieked, "Why are you still wearing your pjs?"

"Fuck, Sis, I didn't know we were expecting visitors," Vic replied, "at least not till dinner time."

"Sunshine's no visitor, Vic. He's our new housemate," Debbie delightedly announced.

"Shit, Justin, I'd pay to have you stay here," Vic asserted while playfully leering at the blond.

"Ignore the old lecher," Deb fondly teased her brother, gesturing for Justin to precede her up the stairs.

"So here it is, Sunshine," Deb said as she opened the door to Michael's old room and switched on the light. "What do you think?"

Justin was at a loss for what to say about the wallpaper, drapes, and bedding, all of which were covered with some sort of comic book character that he didn't recognize. "Eh, I'm grateful that you're providing a place for me to stay," Justin beamed his sunniest smile at Deb, purposefully avoiding any commentary on the childish decor.

Deb pulled open one of the dresser drawers and offered, "Look, here are some of Michael's old tees. You can put one on after you wash up."

Justin dubiously eyed the lurid green tees, every one of which had either the Green Lantern or the Green Arrow plastered across the front. "Um, I really think I'll stick with what I already have, Deb," he declined through a clenched smile.

Deb grinned back at her houseguest, not noticing Justin's revulsion, "Let me show you where the linen closet and upstairs bathroom are located so you can wash up. When you've settled in, come downstairs and I'll give you a key." After opening the linen closet, Deb pursed her lips thoughtfully and asked, "Are you sure you don't want some fresh clothes, Sunshine? I think Michael left some other stuff in the dresser that would fit you."

"I'll be fine, really," Justin hastily assured his benefactress, tacking on, "I'm going to pick out a few things that'll do until I can get my duffel bag from Brian's."

"You be sure to let me know if you need any clothing," Deb reiterated, "I know Michael wouldn't mind sharing."

Justin doubted that was true and bit his lip to keep from making a disparaging remark. "Thanks, Deb, I'll be down in a few minutes," Justin replied. Once the redhead had vanished, Justin quickly washed up before following her downstairs to get a house key.

"Now you be sure to be back by six o'clock," Debbie insisted, "You're part of the family, and we all eat together every Sunday, no matter what."

"Okay, Deb," Justin promised, "I'll be here," before heading out to check the consignment shops.

A couple hours later, the blond returned, wallet emptied of all but a couple dollars, but satisfied that he'd been able to purchase clothes and shoes that closely resembled his school uniform as well as some new briefs, undershirts, and socks. He'd even managed to ‘return' the vibrant red dildo to ‘The Promised Land,' which had netted him an additional forty dollars. 

He had found himself thinking regularly about Brian with deep longing while he shopped. It hadn't even been a full day since he'd last seen his lover - ex-lover at this point, Justin corrected himself - but he missed the brunet terribly. He'd even imagined once or twice that he'd heard Brian's distinctive baritone making snarky remarks about his sartorial choices, only to find nobody around when he looked. The only reason he hadn't started scriking right then and there was because he knew he had a job to do. Now, pushing open the door to Debbie's house, he was keen on quickly disappearing upstairs before he broke down in tears as he had nothing else to busy himself with.

He tried to slip past the kitchen, but the redheaded waitress turned away from the cooker just as he was tiptoeing down the hallway and noticed him. "Sunshine," she called, "do you want to learn how to make linguine with mascarpone and spinach sauce?"

"Sure thing, Deb," Justin replied before he could properly think about it. He immediately regretted his good upbringing that urged him to offer help whenever someone asked for it. He was still feeling the stinging pressure behind his eyes as he tried to keep it together, and the last thing he needed was Debbie noticing anything and calling him out on it. "Just let me dump these bags upstairs, and I'll be right with you," he added after a few seconds of contemplation, showing Debbie his shopping bags. The least he could do was throw some cold water on his face to reduce the puffiness around his red eyes.

"Sure," agreed Debbie, her back already turned towards him again.

Later that evening, after almost everyone had arrived, a knock at the door interrupted Justin and Debbie's culinary endeavors. "Do you want me to get that, Deb?" the blond asked.

"If you could, Sunshine." Debbie nodded. "I want to keep a close watch on the pasta so we don't end up with rubbery noodles."

Justin quickly washed his hands, wondering who hadn't yet arrived. He'd been having a blast cooking with Deb - enjoying himself even more than on the afternoons he'd spent trying out various recipes with his mother. Of course, the bottle of Valpolicella that Vic had unearthed might have had something to do with it. The man had laughingly declared that since it wasn't the right wine to accompany the linguine, they'd have to polish it off before the meal began. 

As the family members had begun filtering in, Justin kept strictly to himself, only ever speaking to anyone when one of them stuck a head into the kitchen to say hi. Emmett was the only person to exchange more than a feeble ‘hello' with him, having gone as far as to step up behind Justin, wrap his arms around the blond, and whisper in a reassuring voice, "You hang in there, Baby. Don't let the Big Bad get you down." before taking a quick sip from Justin's wine glass and leaving him to his own devices again.

Michael had also managed to say more than the compulsory greetings, though he didn't speak to Justin at all, choosing instead to speak about him as if he wasn't standing right there.  

"What's that twink doing here?" he had asked with an ugly turn to his mouth.

Debbie had thrown him a distracted glance. "Oh, he's living here, Honey," she replied before turning back and instructing Justin on whisking together a mascarpone and milk concoction.

Michael had gasped, causing Justin to think he was suffering a stroke because of how riled up he looked. However, when Debbie hadn't responded to any of his protests - which ranged from the somewhat reasonable ("He's just using you if he's not paying any rent.") to the outright ridiculous ("He's going to turn my room into a drug den.") - the pouting brunet had to concede defeat and stropped off to the living room. Justin hadn't wanted to hear Michael telling everyone about the careless blond brat who was responsible for Brian getting robbed, so he stayed in the kitchen.

Now, after drying his hands and hearing another rap of knuckles at the front door, Justin shuffled over to unlock it and let in whoever it was that was knocking. 

Meanwhile, Brian was waiting on the other side of the door for someone to come and invite him in. He stared at the wooden panel in front of him and sighed. He wasn't looking forward to the dinner as he was sure his friends would keep asking questions he didn't really want to answer. As he remembered his day, he wished he could go back to that morning...