When the bus reached the stop closest to Debbie's house, Justin hastened to get off, juggling his tote bag, the textbooks that hadn't fit in the tote, the grungy white shirt from his locker, and his sweats. He almost tripped over one of the sweats' legs, which had somehow twined around his feet. He hopped awkwardly from the bus onto the sidewalk and nearly dropped the sweatpants into the filthy gutter as he disentangled them from around his legs. Muttering to himself to get it together, he dashed down the street to the Novotny-Grassi home. He shouted a hello to Vic, who was lounging in the living room, and darted up the stairs to change from his cobbled-together uniform into some stone-washed jeans and a simple T-shirt.

"Whoa, Justin, where's the fire?" Vic called out when the blond scrambled down the stairs a few minutes later and darted toward the front door.

"I'm running late for my shift at the diner," Justin tossed over his shoulder as he shut the front door. "I'll see you tonight!" he shouted, and not waiting for Vic's reply, he dashed down the street to the eatery. He skidded through the door, which was being held open by a leather daddy waiting for his companion to enter the diner. "Slow down, Blondie," lectured the petite leather-clad man, who Justin would never have guessed to be a dominant, "so we can better admire your luscious behind."

The gentle teasing flustered Justin, who hadn't yet adjusted to all the ogling, verbal come-ons, and groping he received as a busboy. He didn't recognize either the dom or his sub, and wasn't sure if either of them remembered him from Babylon or his frequent visits to the diner with Brian. As Justin gasped for breath, he decided the dom's advice to slow down was good regardless of the reason for it - it wouldn't hurt to be able to take a breath every once in a while. He certainly didn't want to end up hyperventilating before he even began his shift. He waved at Debbie, who was at the other end of the diner, as he retrieved his apron from a hook in the break room.

Justin quickly grabbed a tub from the kitchen and began to clear the dishes from a couple of empty tables, wiping them down afterward and checking to make sure that the usual condiments and a holder filled with napkins were placed at the end of the tables nearest the windows. The couple who'd been entering the diner when he'd arrived immediately claimed one of the booths, while three chattering queens slid into another.

After setting down the tub back in the kitchen, Justin delivered menus to the five customers. He glanced around, astounded at how busy the diner was on a Monday afternoon, until he realized it was going on five o'clock and that the early dinner rush had already started.

"You okay, Kiddo?" Deb asked as she bustled past him to the cash register. "Kiki passed on your message that you'd be an hour later than expected, but didn't say why."

"I have everything under control," Justin assured the waitress with the sunniest smile he could produce, "no need to worry."

Deb opened her mouth to quiz him further, but was distracted by a rowdy customer yelling, "Where's my Pink Plate Special?"

"Hold your horses - or your dick - whichever you prefer," Deb shouted, "but you won't get your food any faster than we can cook it."

Justin grinned at the raillery. This shift at the diner was just what he needed to forget his shitty day at St. James.

When the bell pinged at the kitchen pass-through moments later, Deb requested, "Sunshine, could you check whether that's the Pink Plate Special, and if it is, take it to the impatient dick over there?"

"Sure thing, Deb," Justin replied, still smiling broadly. After glancing at the dish to make sure it was in fact the Pink Plate Special, Justin carried it over to the antsy customer.

"Here you go, sir," he said, offering the burly man a friendly smile and setting the plate in front of him. 

The man's stomach emitted a loud rumble at exactly that moment and he sheepishly excused himself, "Tell the waitress I didn't mean to be such a pain, would'ya? It's just that I haven't eaten anything since breakfast."

"Don't worry," Justin assured him as he tucked into his meal, "if you show appreciation for the food, Debbie will forgive you."

As Justin walked away, the customer stopped eating long enough to whistle appreciatively, "Now that's a view that makes my wait worthwhile."

When Justin returned to the counter, Deb was waiting, arms akimbo. "So what's the story, Sunshine? I know you wouldn't have been late without a good reason."

Justin knew he had to come clean and so, in a quiet tone, he related the disastrous first hour of his school day and how Dixon had penalized him with detention for being out of uniform. He concluded by asking, "Is it okay if I start my shift an hour later for the next three days? I don't want to leave you short-handed, but there's no way I can get out of detention."

"Starting later is no problem, Kiddo, since it doesn't really get busy until four o'clock," the waitress confirmed before continuing, "and that wouldn't matter anyway. Your schoolwork comes first, so be sure to tell me if you need time off, you hear?"

"I will," Justin promised, though he hoped it wouldn't actually be necessary. "Honestly, working at the diner clears my head of all the crap I have to wade through at St. James."

"That homophobic bastard of a teacher," Debbie fumed, "I'd like to give him a piece of my mind."

Justin sighed, "Thanks, Deb, but it wouldn't help. In fact, it might make matters worse. Ever since I was outed, Dixon has been on my case, looking for any excuse to take me to task."

"Won't he harass you about your uniform tomorrow?" Deb's brow furrowed in concern as she looked at Justin.

"I don't think he'll ding me for the same infraction twice," Justin replied with a helpless shrug. "Maybe he'll be satisfied by punishing me with detention. I'll try not to draw his ire again."

"If anything else happens, I expect you to let me know," Deb insisted. "The principal won't know what's hit him if I show up in loco parentis for you. If need be, we'll take Mel along; after all, she's the one who told me what loco parentis even was."

Justin was surprised that Debbie would have talked to Mel about standing in as his mother - thinking that maybe it had been in regard to someone else - but touched that she cared so much, especially since his real mother seemed to have relinquished the job. He hadn't heard a word from Jennifer since Molly's birthday party. He stepped forward and gave Deb a quick hug, blinking furiously and sniffling as he backed away.

"Those allergies sure are something, aren't they Sunshine?" Deb kindly joked as she surreptitiously wiped away a bit of moisture from the corners of her eyes. "Enough of that," she finished briskly, "it's back to work for us or none of these hungry folks are going to get fed."

For the next hour, Justin and Debbie rushed to and fro, serving the dinner crowd. The blond was surprised at how much he was enjoying himself, exchanging banter with both the customers and Debs. Deftly avoiding pinching fingers, he exaggerated the sway of his hips as he moved about, which garnered not only appreciative glances and remarks but also larger tips.

Harry arrived to take over from Debbie, and the redhead told Justin she'd see him at home later that evening. "Make sure he takes a break and eats something for dinner," she cautioned the waiter as she headed out the door; "that boy will just keep on working if you let him."

Justin threw Debbie an exasperated look but was secretly chuffed that she cared about him so much that she took the time to remind him to eat. It was such a motherly thing to do that Justin could see why Debbie was considered to be every local gay man's mum. He waved the redhead off with a smile and resumed clearing tables with a lighter heart. It was shortly thereafter, as the blond was returning to the counter from having served a couple of queens in full drag, that a tall brunet walked in, making Justin's anxiety return full force. 

Brian was tired as he entered the Liberty Diner. His workday had been hectic, filled with pages upon pages of annoying paperwork, demanding clients interrupting his jerk-off sessions, and incompetent font designers to top it all off. How could anyone misinterpret the instruction of creating a clean and simple font and turn in a curlicue-heavy, ink pen-stylised mess? The fact that there were no actual inkblots didn't mean it could be considered ‘clean.'

The brunet walked up to the counter, remembering fondly the way he'd shafted the unfortunate designer in front of the whole art department - there was certainly something to be said for letting out his frustrations on unsuspecting, subpar workers. He had almost made the squirrelly man cry, which had felt especially satisfying after his minging weekend.

"Um... hi, Brian," came a hesitant greeting from behind the counter, and the ad executive found himself yet again face-to-face with the blond bane of his existence.

"Justin." He nodded back, his face plain and unaffected.

The teenager shot him a nervous glance before focusing his gaze downwards at the polished surface of the diner bar and asking, "What can I get you?" 

Brian frowned at the daily menu scrawled on a chalkboard behind the counter. "I'll take the tuna salad - without the mayonnaise - and some whole wheat crackers," he decided. Then, stepping away from the counter, he continued, "Bring it over, will you?"

He didn't wait for Justin's acknowledgement, just went over to a free table near the front of the diner and sat down. He briefly contemplated taking out his laptop and putting in some more work before dinner, but quickly decided that he would have a more positive outlook on things once he had some food in him, so he just opened the evening newspaper that someone had left on a nearby table and started reading about the latest traffic restrictions in Pittsburgh's downtown area.

His morose muttering about a roundabout that was planned for Tremont Street in the next two months - completely unnecessary, if you asked him - was interrupted by the clank of a chilled glass being settled in front of him. Brian looked up to see a sheepish Justin.

"You, uh, haven't ordered anything to drink, so I thought I'd bring you some guava juice?" the blond explained in an uncharacteristically quiet voice, motioning to the pink liquid.

Brian nodded sharply, not gracing Justin with a verbal answer, before watching the twink shuffle back to the bar with slumped shoulders. Brian hated it. He hated seeing the normally cheerful and undeterred boy look so defeated, and he hated actually caring about the lad even more. It seemed as if no matter what he was or wasn't doing, Justin was always ruining his day.

His unfriendly face must've discouraged Justin from any further attempts at communication, because the bowl of tuna salad as well as the packet of crackers were deposited in front of him completely without a word. In fact, the blond server didn't even look at him, thus further chilling the already freezing atmosphere that prevailed between the two men.

The uncomfortable feeling didn't leave Brian until the heavy silence was disrupted by a racket caused by a trio of bumbling stooges - or Michael, Theodore, and Emmett, as they liked to call themselves.

"Hi, Brian!" his best friend greeted him cheerfully as he slid into the booth next to him, pressing close to his body, while Ted and Emmett seated themselves across the table, reaching for their menus. Brian didn't know why they even bothered, since neither one of them ever strayed from their usual order. Unlike Michael, who was never quite sure what to order and often ended up having to eat something he wasn't all that fond of.

"What do you think I should get, Bri?" the man in question asked, scowling at his own menu.

Brian shrugged, shovelling a forkful of tuna salad into his mouth. His friend's plight was most likely caused by the fact that he rarely ever ordered anything based on his own tastes, usually accommodating the palates of his companions instead. The only time the man seemed to decide for himself was when he was eating alone, in which case Brian was almost certain to find his friend stuffing his face with a greasy burger and fries.

"Brian," whined Michael, "help me choose, please."

The ad executive managed to suppress an annoyed sigh. No reason he should impose his own bad mood on his friends. "What do you feel like having?"

"I don't know, I thought I'd have a salad or something. You know I'm trying to eat healthy."

Brian knew no such thing but he decided not to comment. "Have a salad then," he shrugged.

Michael nodded, perusing the menu some more. "So it's either a pasta salad with tomatoes or a tuna salad," he concluded. "I don't really like fish but tuna is healthy, right? "

Brian nodded noncommittally, annoyed with the conversation. Fuck imposing his bad mood on his friends, he thought, if Michael said one more word about fucking salad, he wasn't going to hold back. 

It was at that moment that Justin came over to take their orders. Typical, fumed Brian, of course the blond would come just when he was about to snap like a tightly wound rubber band - it was like the universe was conspiring to drive him out of his mind. "Hey guys," the busboy greeted them with a professional-looking smile that grated on Brian's nerves, "what's it gonna be?"

"I'll have the tuna salad," Michael immediately replied, "and some sparkling water."

Ted threw him a surprised glance. "I thought you hated fish, Michael," he commented.

Michael was clearly determined not to have anyone rain on his parade, as he replied, "Tuna's not really fish. I mean it's more like eating sea cow, right?"

"Huh?" Ted blinked at Michael in confusion, wondering how a fish could be confused with a cow.

"You know," Michael held his hands apart to indicate size, "they're really big and sorta grey." Turning toward Brian for corroboration, he asked, "Didn't we learn in high school that they're mammals?"

As Brian stared at his friend in astonishment, Emmett gasped, "Oh my God, you want to eat Flipper."

"What?" Michael gawped at his outraged friend, "No, I want a tuna salad."

Brian felt like banging his head against the table in frustration. How could his day have progressed from dealing with the imbeciles in Ryder's art department to this farce of a discussion about tuna? "Why don't you just order a burger, Michael?" he suggested dryly, "then you'd definitely be eating ‘cow' meat."

"You know what? That's a great idea," Michael enthused, happily accepting his best friend's recommendation, forgetting all about eating healthily.

Justin coughed to disguise the chuckle that threatened to bubble up, politely reminding the guys that he was there to take their orders, "What can I get you then?"

"A double cheeseburger and fries. And a Coke," Michael stated firmly without looking at Justin. When Justin turned toward Emmett and Ted for their selections, Michael amended his order, "Make that a triple-decker burger." 

Satisfied that he'd ordered the right thing, Michael looked at Brian and said, "You know, Brian, you should've gotten a burger. That tuna looks kinda gross."

Brian forked another bite of his dinner into his mouth to avoid saying something he might regret later. He loved Michael, he really did, but sometimes the man just drove him crazy with his smothering presence and childlike thinking - so much so that Brian had thought of knocking their friendship on the head a few times in the past. He'd never gone as far as going through with it because, after all was said and done, Michael was still his best friend and his innocent attitude was a part of his charm, but he did remember a few impromptu business trips he'd had to make when Michael was at his most annoying. 

Coming out of his reverie, Brian found out he hadn't paid attention to what was going on at their table. Theodore and Emmett had apparently already ordered their meals and were debating whether they should ask for Coke or Dr. Pepper to wash it down, while Michael was now attempting to fold a fortune teller out of his napkin. Brian glared first at the two men opposite him, then at the crumpled excuse for a children's game, before he finally settled his chippy gaze on Justin, who was dutifully waiting by their table with his little notepad in hand.

"We'll have the Coke then," Ted stated decisively, handing the menus back to the blond with a smile.

"Coke's the best." Michael nodded sagely.

Brian tuned out their conversation again as they turned their nattering to the Absolute Abs contest, or whatever event was coming up at Babylon. It really didn't matter to him, since he always ended up fucking the winner - who of course was the hottest guy there - anyroad.

Only paying attention again when the blond server delivered their drinks and meals, Brian found himself getting more irritated when Justin shot a friendly smile at the other three men - even Michael - but didn't so much as glance at him. "Can I get you anything else?" the teenager asked.

Michael didn't respond to Justin's question, but Emmett grinned at his young friend and assured him, "We're good, Baby."

In an effort to get a rise out of the normally unquenchable blond and make him look at him, Brian waited until Justin had stepped away from the table before requesting, "I'll take a cup of that sludge that passes for coffee."

Tossing a crisp, "Coming right up, sir," over his shoulder, Justin grabbed a cup, saucer, and spoon and carried them over to the table along with a steaming carafe of coffee.

After placing the cup in front of Brian, he paused, looking directly at Brian with a concerned expression, before inquiring in an extremely solicitous tone, "Did you want to ladle in the sugar first, so that I can add a smidgen of the brew?"

Ted and Emmett guffawed, and Michael, too, barked out a laugh before realizing he was laughing at Brian's expense, thereafter quickly adopting a serious mien.

"Thought you had a rule about no carbs after seven," Ted quipped, "or is sugar in coffee the exception to the rule?"

Brian was so nonplussed that he froze momentarily, the sugar container already in hand, involuntarily glancing down at his Bvlgari Octo wristwatch - one item that thankfully hadn't been nicked since he'd been wearing it on Saturday - to see that it was indeed past seven o'clock. Fucking Twat. He bristled, at a rare loss for a comeback.

Michael attempted to come to the rescue. "Coffee is the most important food group, Ted, and who doesn't put sugar in coffee?"

"I take my coffee black," Ted responded wryly, "not that you've ever noticed, of course."

"Honey," Emmett drawled, "I do like sugar in my coffee, but not coffee in my sugar. Furthermore," he exclaimed, addressing the table at large, "though essential to our well-being, coffee is not actually a food group."

With a direful glare at Justin, who after all was responsible for his woes, the ad exec finally recovered his voice, "If you'd had all your goods burgled and were bunking at the munchers, you'd also need sugar to cope." Brian hadn't meant to let slip where he was staying and winced inwardly as he anticipated their reactions. Fuck, he really should warn Linds and Mel to expect an increase in visits, particularly from Michael.

His friends goggled at him, too astounded that he was staying with the lesbians rather than at a hotel to utter a word. 

Justin, who was still waiting to pour Brian's coffee, did his best to ignore the man's baleful look and simply blinked. He wasn't surprised by the brunet's announcement since Brian would probably find it comforting to be around Lindsay - whether he admitted it to himself or not - and of course, it was natural that Brian would enjoy the extra time with Gus.

When Michael opened his gob, no doubt to inquire why Brian wasn't kipping with him if he didn't want to be in a hotel, Justin forestalled him. The teen was deeply hurt by the way Brian continued to direct his ire toward him, but it was still the blond's inclination to soothe Brian's distress, especially since he seemed to have caused it yet again. Leaning over the table, he asked in a placid voice, "Should I pour your coffee?"

"Yes," Brian growled, "that's what you're here for after all."

Justin bit his lip to stop himself from saying anything that would further antagonise his former lover and simply filled his cup. After that, he quietly stepped away, returning the coffee carafe to its place and then checking with his other customers as to whether they wanted anything else.

Brian wanted to rub his forehead in an effort to reduce his burgeoning headache, stopping himself at the last moment. His well-meaning best friend would be all over him in an effort to soothe, and he couldn't handle any more such help. He sighed in relief as blissful silence reigned at the table for the next ten minutes, the boys too busy chowing down to talk.

Michael finished eating first, and as he chewed his final mouthful of cheeseburger, he turned toward Brian and eagerly asked, "How about we take on Em and Ted in a game of pool once we're at Woody's?" spewing flecks of food onto Brian's Armani suit as he spoke.

Brian backed away as far as he could, brushing ineffectually at himself with a napkin. Fuck! His tailor was altering the new Zegna, Armani, and Loro Piani suits he'd selected during his afternoon shopping expedition, but even with a rush job, wouldn't have any of them ready before the end of the next day. Refusing to even consider Hugo Boss had limited his options somewhat, but he couldn't abide the thought of wearing suits designed by a company with Nazi connections, even if those connections had long been severed.

Unusually for him, he hadn't enjoyed shopping because he'd had to rush and couldn't browse at his usual pace, which involved inspecting every article of clothing thoroughly. Plus, he'd had to buy absolutely everything - from briefs, wifebeaters, socks, and accessories to jeans, shirts, suits, and an overcoat - before the specialty menswear stores had closed for the day. He'd also hoped to replace his dogshit-tainted Prada boots, but all that remained in his size was last season's style, which he refused to wear. He'd settled for Gucci shoes and a belt even though they weren't quite what he wanted.

To go with the suits, he'd purchased Gieves and Hawkes shirts as well as some of Armani's ones. He'd paused briefly to admire the Borsalino hats, which he would never wear despite them being very stylish. A handsome redhead had just tried one on, eyeing Brian flirtatiously from under the brim, tempting Brian to indulge in a dressing room blowjob. He'd had to regretfully decline, shaking his head at the man, since he hadn't had enough time to finish his shopping as it was.

His glance lingering on the trick, he'd quickly chosen a couple of Battistoni and Davidoff neckties and a creamy white silk scarf that he thought he'd set aside for a special occasion. Calvin Klein jeans as well as Emporio Armani boxer briefs and T-shirts had rounded out his purchases, making a sizable dent in his American Express card. He'd been utterly incensed at the obscene amounts he'd spent, although he normally took great pride in being able to purchase whatever fashionable attire he desired, making him mutter under his breath about that feckless blond as he'd left the final shop.

Brian continued to swipe at the crumbs decorating his suit, even mistaking one splotch on his slacks for a grease stain - having forgotten all about the come he'd gotten on his trousers during his office handjob. The entire time, he berated himself for not having changed into casual wear before heading to the diner. This Armani suit had to last one more day; fortunately, he would be able to don a fresh shirt, tie, underwear, socks, and shoes on the morrow. He threw a reproachful look Michael's way for having sprayed him with his half-chewed food, but he didn't see much reason to be actually upset with Michael, whose behavior wasn't at all unusual, instead placing the blame for his clothing situation squarely where it belonged - on Justin. 

As Brian was wiping away the cheeseburger crumbs, Emmett took a final sip of his soda and burped, immediately covering his mouth and excusing himself with a well-mannered, "Pardon me." He fished some bills out of his pocket and laid them on the table, careful to include a sizeable tip for Justin.

Standing up, he then bounced in place. "Let's go grab a beer and play a round of pool at Woody's before we shake our tail feathers at Babylon, boys," he exclaimed excitedly.

Ted shrugged in easygoing compliance, pulling out his wallet to cover his meal and dropping another two dollars onto the table when Emmett raised his eyebrows at him, before sliding out of the booth after his friend. Michael noisily slurped the last of his Coke, his meal long demolished, and rose to join his friends before realizing Brian was still ensconced in the booth.

"Aren't you going to leave a tip?" Emmett commented disapprovingly, just as Michael clamored, "Brian, get up. You know the tricks are waiting for you."

"A tip?" Em repeated, tapping his foot against the floor.

"My meals are comped, what with Ma working here," Michael belatedly replied, "and I figure that includes tips. Besides, that waiter didn't do anything special, so why should I leave him a graciaity?"

Emmett frowned at Michael but didn't argue the point any further, reaching into his pocket as if to leave a tip in Michael's stead, when he noticed Brian gesturing that he'd take care of it.

"You run along," Brian spoke up at last, "I'm going to finish eating while I work on a presentation." He motioned towards his laptop case in explanation, deliberately not mentioning that the project's deadline was still almost a week away. He really just wanted the three men to leave him in peace so he could keep an eye on the blond busboy for a while. Clearly, Deb had offered the blond a job as well as a place to stay. Regardless of Justin's motivations for accepting the position at the diner, Brian was curious about how Justin would behave.

Michael tugged at Brian's arm, "Leave the rest of your salad," he begged, "it smells off to me. You really shouldn't have gotten the fish."

"C'mon, Jessica Simpson," Ted urged, "leave Brian be, and get a move on."

"What?" Brian could hear Michael squawk as Emmett and Ted took him by the arms and towed him out the door. Glad to see the last of his friends for the night, the brunet pulled out his laptop and settled in to review his notes for his upcoming meeting with Ryder. Instead of preparing, though, he soon found himself surreptitiously watching the blond under the guise of working. He couldn't help but admire the blond for working so hard, but at the same time felt his anger build at how Justin had seemingly forgotten all about the burglary and its lasting effects on Brian. Fuck, he'd just had to replace a portion of his wardrobe, without taking the time to ensure everything measured up to his usual sartorial standards. Justin, however, apparently hadn't had any difficulty replenishing his unpolished wardrobe of khakis and tees, and looked to the brunet's jaundiced eyes as if he hadn't a care in the world.

As Brian was growing steadily more irate, the other waiter on the evening shift carried a plate over to Justin at the counter and encouraged him, "Time to take a break and eat. You heard Deb, and you know she'll have my balls if you skip dinner."

"Can't have that, Harry," Justin teased the cheeky Vietnamese-American bloke with a rather wan smile. "I'll just take this to the break room," he offered. Although he hadn't actually caught Brian looking at him, he felt those hazel eyes watching his every move and it put him on edge.

His attempt to escape Brian's gaze foundered, however, when Harry replied, "No need, man. Just pour yourself a drink and eat here at the counter. There won't be another onrush of customers until the clubs close, so it's not like you'll be taking a seat away from anyone."

Justin poured himself a glass of milk and began to eat, taking bites from his fork with his left hand and idly doodling on his notepad with his right hand. A frowning, accusatory Kinney, much like the one Justin had been facing in his dreams and in person since the robbery, took shape on the pad. Annoyed to find himself automatically drawing Brian, he crumpled the offending sketch and tossed it toward the trashcan before starting a new doodle.

As his mini-portrait of Debbie progressed, Justin concentrated on getting her motherly expression just right and forgot about everything else, including his dinner, until he was interrupted by an abrasive voice from the booth directly across from where he was perched at the counter. "Well, it looks to me like you've landed on your feet," the sarcastic voice rasped. "Got everyone feeling sorry for poor little Sunshine and offering comfort?" 

Justin set his pencil down slowly and deliberately so that he wouldn't mar his drawing and looked up until he was staring directly into incensed hazel eyes. "If you want to talk to me, Brian, just say so. Unless we're going to have a civil conversation, however, I'm not interested. I've had enough of you putting me down, giving me the cold shoulder, and throwing out random accusations."

"Random accusations?" the brunet parroted incredulously. "You left my loft unlocked, resulting in all my possessions being nicked, and you dare to suggest that I don't have every right to be angry?"

"I can't change how you feel," Justin responded wearily, pushing his plate to the side as the little he'd consumed roiled unpleasantly in his stomach, "though I don't see how bullying me and sniping at me while I eat is going to improve matters." The aggrieved teen was thankful that there were only a few customers at the back of the diner since he really didn't want news of this altercation to spread up and down Liberty Avenue. Bad enough that all the madly gossiping fags had undoubtedly already heard about the burglary.

"Bullying you? You know what's bullying?" Brian growled. "Having your privacy invaded by strangers because a trick didn't lock the door!" Looking Justin up and down, he scoffed, "You didn't have any trouble replacing your togs, such as they are, but I have to dress professionally to represent Ryder which, due to your negligence, has been damned difficult."

At the stinging barb about him being nothing more than a trick, Justin had no trouble holding back another futile apology, or worse, blurting out his plan to make restitution - a plan which, with Brian treating him this way, he would rather the brunet didn't discover for a long time. He did have to grit his teeth, however, to avoid further insulting Brian.

Brian forced himself to calm down, not wanting to make a spectacle out of himself in the diner. Unbeknownst to the ad exec, his thoughts about fueling the gossip on Liberty Avenue ran parallel to the teen's. Deciding that there was no point in continuing this discussion with an unrepentant Justin, he abruptly closed his laptop and stuffed it into his briefcase, before standing up and reaching for his wallet. He pulled out enough to cover his meal as well as generous tips for both himself and Michael. Although he was pissed off at the blond in regard to the burglary, Brian wasn't about to stiff him for his hard work as a server.

Right after Brian dropped the money onto the table, Justin's fine-fingered hand shot out, startling him since he hadn't heard the teen approach, and pushed a twenty-dollar bill back into his hand. "I don't need your charity," a low voice seethed, "just payment for your meal, which you've already covered."

When Brian glanced up, he met icy blue eyes sparkling with a fury that matched his own. Since he hadn't expected Justin to confront him in regard to the gratuity, he couldn't think how to tell the disdainful blond that it was a simple tip for his hard work without making the situation worse. Twenty dollars was too large a tip for one person, and he could hardly admit that he was also leaving a tip for Michael without making the teen more irate. Shrugging in acquiescence to the blond's demand, he pocketed the tip, stepped around Justin, and exited the diner.

Discouraged, Justin sagged against the table, his energy draining away as he watched Brian walk out of the diner. He was proud of himself for standing up to Brian but devastated by his ongoing antagonism. Justin was tempted to ask someone else to serve the brunet the next time he came into the diner during his shift but resolved that he wouldn't give the man the satisfaction.

Brian, equally dissatisfied by their encounter, pounded his hands against the steering wheel after sliding into the jeep. He wanted to stop thinking about the kid, but that was going to be impossible unless he quit frequenting the diner. Fuck if he was going to let the brat steal something else from him; he'd been eating at the diner since he was fourteen and was going to keep doing so for as long as he wanted. He'd just have to give the kid the silent treatment from now on, only speaking to him when necessary.

Desperate to relax, Brian popped open the glove compartment, searching for the joint he remembered stashing there. He sighed in relief as he found the doobie where he'd left it, inside a Ziploc bag in the middle of the operating manual for the jeep. Shoving the plastic baggie into the pocket containing the twenty-dollar bill, he decided to head to Linds and Mel's house and mellow out with the joint on their couch. Maybe he'd even jerk off, he thought. It was a good idea since that couch could definitely use some of his manly odor to overpower the lingering lesbian scents.

Brian walked into the living room, not really paying much attention to his surroundings as he mulled over his evening at the diner, which is most likely why he didn't notice he was heading into dangerous territory until it was too late. There, on the couch right in the middle of the room, Lindsay and Melanie were snogging their faces off, shirts unbuttoned and hands busy exploring naked skin. Utterly revolted, Brian averted his eyes, complaining vociferously, "Fuck! Don't you know what a bedroom is for? How am I supposed to sleep on that thing now?"

Two appalled faces stared back at him as the women quickly covered themselves up. Wrapping a hideous orange and yellow throw around Mel - the one that Brian had been using as a blanket - a flustered Lindsay responded, "We thought you'd be going to Babylon tonight. What are you doing home so early?"

Waving the joint around, an indignant Brian yelled, "And that makes it okay to fuck on the couch where I'm sleeping?"

"Don't you know the difference between cuddling and fucking?" Mel retorted as she regained her equilibrium, clearly irritated to have been interrupted.

"I don't cuddle. I fuck," Brian declared emphatically, accidentally dropping the reefer which he'd stabbed in Mel's direction as he was making his point. 

Brian watched in dismay as his last blunt - well, other than the ones in his safety deposit box - rolled under the sofa on which Mel and Linds still sat.

Snickers came from the couch as the two women watched Brian crawl around on the carpet in his efforts to reach the wayward joint, muttering the whole while about having to decontaminate it. "Aha!" he exclaimed as he finally snagged the errant reefer between his thumb and forefinger.

After standing up, Brian ostentatiously used the linen doily on the end table to wipe off the joint, grimacing as he did so.

"Could I have a toke?" Mel requested, apparently unconcerned about germs. "I need to unwind and since you so rudely interrupted, it's the least you can do."

Brian wanted to refuse but could hardly do so when it was their couch - defiled or not - that he was sleeping on. After lighting up, he sat down next to Linds, took a puff, and passed the joint to the bulldyke.

"Sorry, Linds," Mel apologized at the blonde's look of reproach, "but I had a hellacious day at work."

"If only I weren't breastfeeding," Lindsay murmured, glancing longingly at the joint as it once again passed in front of her face when Melanie returned it to Brian.

"Please," Brian begged with an exaggerated shudder," I don't need another horrendous image to plague my sleep tonight. Leave your tits out of it."

Lindsay huffed in pretend pique. "My tits are fine, thank you very much."

"I'd drink to that," commented a slightly-high Melanie before Brian could come up with another disgusted response. "In fact," she continued, "I might do just that. Where did you put that bourbon, Babe?"

Lindsay scowled at her. "You're not really going to open that now, are you? I'm breastfeeding," she kvetched.

Listing a bit to the left as she stood, Mel toddled over to the media cabinet. "In here, wasn't it?" Opening the door on the left, she reached behind a stack of videos, exclaiming, "Aha!" as she triumphantly surfaced with a two-thirds full bottle of Beam.

"I'll make it worth your while," Mel promised, ogling Lindsay's bosom as she sat back down next to her partner. 

"Please! Enough with waving your tits around," Brian complained.

With a smirk at Brian, Mel encouraged Linds, "Don't stop, Babe, I like what I see."

Brian frowned, muttering to himself about bulldykes with an overabundance of testosterone.

Grinning smugly at having gotten the better of Brian, Mel passed the bourbon to him, offering, "Trade you."

"Who knew you had such excellent taste in whiskey?" Brian snarked. He accepted the Beam with an approving nod and handed the joint back to Melanie, his grumpiness receding as he uncapped the bottle and took a healthy swig.

"I might ask the same question of you," Mel retorted, "I've been drinking Beam since I was a college freshman."

Still smarting from Mel's earlier set-down, Brian riposted, "Selling your services way back then?" deliberately omitting any indication of what kind of services he had in mind.

He wondered vaguely why Mel blanched at his question before challenging him, "No more than you, I'm sure."

"Whoa!" Lindsay interjected, before standing up. "If the two of you are going to play another game of one-upmanship, I'm off to bed." With that, the annoyed blonde headed up the stairs.

"Huh," Brian eloquently remarked, "I thought we were being quite congenial."

Melanie huffed out a laugh, "I'll drink to that." Handing Brian the rapidly-dwindling reefer, she snatched the bottle and took a swig.

Each attempted to ascertain what kind of services the other might have sold - covering everything from a lemonade stand to standing at street corners - and passing the bottle back and forth until it was empty, the last toke of the joint long since inhaled. Eventually, they passed out, both of them tilting sideways until Brian's head came to rest against the arm of the couch, with Mel's head balanced on his stomach, one arm around his waist.

While Brian and Mel were swilling whiskey and trading insults, Justin was just finishing his shift, grateful to Deb for letting him work from five till nine instead of four till eight during his week of detention. Intending to give it to Debbie, he rolled up the signed sketch, tying it shut with a bit of string before stashing it in the pocket of his jacket. He scurried down Liberty Ave toward Deb and Vic's house, the chill night air raising goosebumps on the skin not covered by his thin jacket. He was glad once more that he'd had the jacket on when he'd gone to Molly's birthday party; otherwise, that was another article of clothing he'd have had to do without until the police released the loft to Brian.

Fuck! Everything made him think about the brunet. Determinedly putting Brian out of his mind, Justin began a mental review of the calculus problems that were likely to crop up on Thursday's exam.

"Hey, Vic! Deb!" he called out as he entered the house and found the siblings watching CSI on the telly in the living room. Justin half-watched the show as he waited for a commercial break so he could ask, "Deb, would it be alright if I did a load of wash? I need a fresh shirt for school tomorrow."

"Sure, Kiddo. Let me just show you how that cantankerous old machine works," Deb offered, standing up from the couch.

Justin quickly ran upstairs to get his dirty clothes before joining Deb in the service porch. Nodding toward the living room, he shrugged, "I didn't mean to take you away from your show."

"Not to worry, Sunshine," Deb replied with an affectionate smile; "Vic can fill me in if I miss anything interesting." The redhead looked at the items Justin wanted to launder and suggested, "We should probably throw those in with some of Vic's clothes to make a full load."

Once Deb showed him how to operate the old washer, they got the load of wash started. Remembering the sketch in his pocket, Justin pulled it out and rather bashfully handed it to the motherly woman, "Ehm, Debbie, I thought you might like this."

"Why, Justin! You've captured exactly how I look!" Debbie exclaimed in amazement after removing the string and unrolling the slip of paper, holding the drawing up to the light to see it better. "We have to show this to Vic," she asserted, bustling toward the living room with Justin trailing embarrassedly along behind her.

Deb shoved the sketch toward her brother, "Take a look at this portrait Sunshine made of me."

Rather put out with Deb for blocking his view of the TV, Vic nevertheless glanced at the drawing and instantly forgot all about the CSI investigation. "When did you create this?" he asked Justin, the admiration clear in his voice.

Justin had simply intended the drawing to be a small expression of gratitude, and even though he thought it a good likeness, he didn't really consider it worth gushing over. "Uh, at the diner on my break," he admitted, squirming a bit in self-consciousness.

"Heck, Sis, you should display some of Justin's sketches at the diner," Vic advised. "I bet he could make some money off of them."

"That's a mint idea, Vic!" Deb agreed enthusiastically. "Sunshine, you could become famous as the Liberty Diner Artist."

Justin began chuckling at that notion, with Debbie and Vic soon joining him. "Okay, okay," the redhead gasped, "that might be overly ambitious, but who knows what could happen?"

"She's right," Vic agreed, "you'd have a captive audience at the diner, especially if you draw something a little racier than my Sis."

Rather bemused but also intrigued, the teen demurred, "I don't know, Vic. I don't think I'm quite ready for all that."

"Well, just keep it in mind," Deb encouraged Justin; "talent like yours should be nurtured, Honey."

"Right now, I'd better think about my calculus midterm," the teen stated, tabling the notion of selling his drawings for the time being. With that, he excused himself and headed up to Michael's old room, pulling out his textbook and settling in to study until he needed to move the laundry to the dryer.

Later on, after quickly and easily solving several calculus derivatives, Justin was feeling more confident about acing his Thursday midterm. He'd taken breaks during his study session to transfer the laundry from the washer to the dryer, fold the clothes, and iron his two shirts. Both siblings had laughed when he'd stuck his head into the living room to inquire whether Vic wanted anything ironed, Vic finally gasping out, "I don't think anything could make those old sweats and tees more presentable."

A grinning Justin had started to turn away from the living room when Deb had advised, "Careful with that steam iron, Sunshine. After you fill the tank with water, let it heat, hold it up, and then press the steam button. After the whitish gunk spurts out, it should be safe to use."

Once he'd finished the ironing - heeding Deb's warning and giggling when he discovered that the iron performed exactly as advertised - Justin put away his clothes, already grateful that he wouldn't have to make time to iron in the morning. After that he'd spread out Daphne's calculus textbook and his workbook on the kitchen table, indulging in a slice of chocolate cake, and then scarfing down a second piece because it was so tasty. He'd looked up a bit guiltily when Deb stuck her head in to say good night, but she just laughed and told him that he was a growing boy and should eat as much as he wanted before she headed upstairs with Vic right behind her.

Now, the teen was sprawled across his bed, having trouble falling asleep. He was worn out but unable to cease the parade of graphs, functions, and mathematical equations through his brain. Justin's hand involuntarily drifted downward and cupped his burgeoning erection through the white cotton briefs. Yes, he thought, a bit of TLC was just what he needed to relax and descend into slumber. Craving the feel of skin on skin, he pushed his briefs down to his thighs, and spitting into his palm for lubrication, began to stroke himself slowly up and down. Although he desperately wanted to plant his feet on the bed and arch up into his hand, Justin kept his legs flat to minimize his movements. He had already learned how the least wiggle or a thrust could make the bedsprings squeak loudly enough that even the neighbours would know what he was up to.

Justin's unoccupied hand slid across his torso, his fingers tugging gently at his nipple ring. Hissing in pleasure, he tugged again while simultaneously rubbing the slit at the apex of his cock with the callused tip of his thumb. He began to emit a steady stream of moans, unaware that he was doing so, as he fisted his cock more tightly.

As his fingers glided upward once more, he imagined himself sinking into the warmest, most welcoming tunnel ever. He even thought he could hear his partner groaning appreciatively, "More, Sunshine. Give me more, Twat!"

Justin was so far gone in his fantasy that he didn't even realize he was thinking of Brian again. Another stroke with that satisfying twist as he neared the head, and it was all over. The spent young man passed out with one hand still loosely wrapped around his cock, come drying on his belly, and a blissful smile on his face.