Brian, dressed and ready for work, sipped coffee while paging through a magazine on the counter. A knock on the door. A wonder-who second. Brian left his cup, unlocked and drew the door open.

“Hey, Brian,” Justin edged a smile. “I forgot my stuff in the Jeep last night.” He stepped in, stood still as Brian shut the door.

“I was just about to leave anyway,” Brian rested his hands on Justin’s hips, kissed him. “How are you holding up? Gutter-mind aside.”

Justin’s smile eased to natural. “I’ll be okay.” He slid his arms around Brian’s waist and pulled into a hug, closed his eyes and felt Brian’s warm breath in his hair. “If Vic and Ben can deal with it, so can I.”

Brian stared off. “Where do you get your courage.”

“You always said self-pity makes your dick soft,” Justin leaned back with a grin. The last thing he wanted was anybody’s pity.

Brian backed away, dug his keys from his pocket, held them out and opened the door. “Meet me at the Jeep before we’re BOTH late.”

Justin caressed the keys from his hand, bounded out and down the stairs. Brian adjusted his crotch and grabbed his briefcase. If Justin’s show was for his benefit, it sure the fuck worked. Could’ve timed it a little better, though.

At the car, Brian opened the driver door to a stack of neatly bound reports on his seat, Justin filling a lapful of duffel and a floor full of backpack.

“What’re you doing?”

Justin rummaged, “We were working kinda fast, and I just wanted to make sure none of this got mixed up,” he cleared the seat.

Brian slid in, slammed his door, started the car. “School project?” He watched Justin pull the contents from a manila envelope marked MASTER.

“Sort of. It’s for Cynthia’s nephew, Chad. You met him last week,” Justin straightened the packet, flipped it over. His brows knit. “Is this something about Vanguard?”

Brian, waiting for a break in traffic, snapped a look. “A little computer study. Let me see that.” He cut the engine, took the packet and read a hand-penciled key code of companies numbered one through six. Vanguard was one…Neville was six. He turned the pack over, fanned through a series of war drive documents like the one done for Vanguard. In fact, the front WAS Vanguard’s titled a generic COMPANY-ONE including a PRACTICAL APPLICATION section. When he located Six, his eyes burned the page, lips thinned.

Justin glanced from the pages to Brian. “Don’t freak. I couldn’t understand it either.” After Brian handed the pages back, Justin crammed them into the envelope and added it to the duffel. “Could you give this to Cynthia for me?”

“Not a problem,” Brian restarted the car, noticed Justin quietly staring at a point beyond the dash. The show was over.

Justin detected the look and wrenched a smile. “What?”

Brian faced ahead. “Traffic is a bitch today.” All he could do. For now.

Gardner sat at Brian’s desk, brows knit as each studied a copy of Chad’s report.

Brian started, “Neville had open access points on a drive dated AFTER ours.”

“So what you’re saying is, we fell for a scheme to hawk security programs?”

Brian blew that off. “We had vulnerability. It’s being corrected. But we thought Neville was tapping us. According to this,” Brian displayed the report, “They don’t even know THEY’RE vulnerable. If anything’s getting out – and it sure the fuck seems so – it’s from someone inside.”

“But the only problems have been with YOUR accounts.”

“In which you share a gain,” Brian added. “Four people have access to my database. Me, you, Cynthia…and your ex-Neville assistant. Now out of all those dedicated parties, who would YOU pick…partner?”

Gardner let out a breath. “I’ll check into it,” he nodded, stood up and walked out with the report.

Brian dropped his copy onto his lap, rolled his lips in thought. One more person.

A moment later, Chad tapped on the open door. “Mr. Kinney?”

“I was just thinking about you.”

“Justin told me you’d have my-” Chad spied the open duffel, dug into it, removed a copy. He flipped through a neatly bound packet to an inside pocket, removed and unfolded a map. “This is perfect.”

“Justin always does superior work,” Brian watched Chad shuffle through the bag, frown.

“There’s supposed to be ten. I’m short two.”

“One,” Brian tossed his copy into the bag. “You just donated one to Vanguard for using us,” his cold statement got Chad’s stare. “What other information are you collecting?”

Chad stiffened with the drift. “Mr. Kinney, my interest is in security. That’s what this is all about,” he waved a copy of his report, re-bagged it. “I don’t make up facts to scare people, I don’t get a kick-back from selling systems and I don’t spy for the highest bidder. I try to get people to understand that what I do is real, and that it’s not just the good guys who use this technology. If anything, I’m grateful to Vanguard for being the first company to make my work credible. Without that, I’m just some college geek with a crazy idea.”

Brian watched his eyes, his stance. Hardly the bad guy. “So what’re you planning to do with that?” he motioned at the bag.

“Submit it for a shot at an internship. With the FBI. Oh. I installed the router last night after you closed.”

“Last night? How did you get past security?”

“It was easy.”

“Brian raised a hand to his temple. “How.”

“Cyn came with me.”

Brian dropped his hand, relieved. “Go, Chad. Now.”

“Sure,” Chad smiled, grabbed the duffel. “I gave Aunt Cyn all the modification specs. And…thanks. For the rental car,” he hiked out the door.

Brian’s com buzzed; he keyed it open. “Yes?”

Gardner Vance. “Brian, I need to see you in my office right away.”

In Vance’s office, Brian slouched in a chair next to Vance at his desk. Across the room, Lana sat gripping a large envelope in her lap until Vance finally spoke.

“We’re both here. Now what is it you have to say?”

She stood, approached the desk and looked from one to the other. “I know there’s suspicion about me. Yes, I do have friends at Neville, and they know I got a raw deal. But I work for YOU now, and to prove it, I got this from them,” she opened the envelope.

“What happened to confidentiality?” Brian leaned back, arms crossed.

Lana dropped a black ring binder on the desktop near Brian. “It’s not Neville’s. It’s yours.”

Vance shot a look at Brian.

Equally stunned, Brian lifted the familiar binder with VANGUARD on its spine, eyed Lana. “How did they get this?”

“I’m not at liberty to say.”

Vance’s forehead furrowed, reading as Brian paged through the open binder, paused on: HEMMERBECK. A few pages, then: CRATER & SONS.

Brian slapped the binder shut, picked it up, stood. “Is this meeting over?”

“Not quite,” Vance answered. “Lana, shut the door on your way out.”

After she left, Vance unleashed. “Under the terms of our partnership, I put up most of the capital as long as you secure most of the accounts. So far we have two major players in which, to rephrase your earlier point, I now share a loss. I’m not a gambler, I’m not a philanthropist. I’m not even your friend. If this trend continues, I WILL take action to have this partnership dissolved. Your opinion on allaying my fears?”

“You’re a fearless man. And I’m the Miracle Worker. Now if you don’t mind, I hear the fat lady singing,” Brian smiled, opened the door and walked out knowing that the fucker was serious.

He slow-blinked at Lana as he passed her in the hall.

“Brian,” Lana stopped him. “I don’t expect your apology-”

“For what? I had legitimate concerns and I acted on them.”

“I just want you to support me like you would any other person here.”

He low-toned, “This isn’t my binder,” and left her standing.

Lana watched him. Thinking over what she did. And that he didn’t do the same to her when he had the chance.

Brian stopped at Cynthia’s desk. “I need a copy of today’s agenda.”

“Lose your day planner?” she quipped, dropped it when she saw his face.

“Not mine.”

In Novotny’s living room, Justin slung his backpack to the floor, unbuckled it, “I can’t stay long. Just wanted to make sure I got this back to you.” He removed Vic’s recipe binder, handed it over.

“You didn’t have to make a special trip. I trust you,” Vic watched him dig out a narrow phone-book-sized packet in black plastic, unwrap and present it – a white, professionally bound book.

“This is for you. I got the idea from a friend, and my boss at the Copy Shop did the binding.”

Vic accepted it, shook his head and sat on the couch. His hand-drawn portrait on the cover of Vic Grassi – The Gay Gourmet. “Justin,” his eyes glazed as he paged through scanned copies of his collection, “This is…this is…” he shook his head smiling.

Justin brought over the rest. “I made enough for the family. That way, if we all have our own, they’ll get more use. They’re not official till you sign them.” Justin set the stack on the floor beside Vic’s feet. “Is it okay?”

“Get over here,” Vic pat the cushion beside him, waited until Justin sat down then one-armed a hug. “It’s more than okay. Thank you, Sunshine.”

They backed apart with Vic still shaking his head and slowly paging. “Since you’re the official publisher, I think I’ll sign the first one to you and Brian.”

“I…” Justin cleared his throat,“…made us each a copy,” forced a smile and looked at Vic. “In case we, you know.”

“After all the nights he spent with you at Presby a while back? I don’t think so.”

“I never saw him there,” Justin shook his head.

“You were probably out of it most of the time. That night I went in, I couldn’t sleep so the night nurse and I got to talking and found out I knew you both. She was glad to see you and your so-called big, sexy lover looking so well. Said to say hi.”

“He never told me,” Justin looked down at his fidgeting hands, glanced at Vic’s book. “Sometimes people do a lot of extra things when they feel like they owe you for something.”

Vic caught the glance, lifted the book. “Did you think you owed me this?”

“No! I did it because…”

Vic leaned a little closer, smiling, waiting for the rest.

“I didn’t send it in an anonymous package,” Justin finished.

“That’s because you’re not Brian Kinney.” Vic sat back, lightened, “Personally, I like your way better. It’s a heckuva lot easier to figure out.”

“I hafta get back to class,” Justin rose and shouldered his pack.

Vic joined him. “And I’ve got some celebrity book signing,” he opened the door for Justin to leave.

“Later,” Justin waved. It’s because I wanted you to know you’ll be remembered. Make you feel special. Because I think you’re wonderful…and I love you.

But I’m not Brian Kinney.

Paul Bright got into his four-door, tossed his briefcase on a stack of folders on the passenger side. He jumped at Brian’s voice.

“Do you always leave your car unlocked?”

Paul jerked a look at Brian, rising off the back seat to lean on arms folded over the front seatback. “Brian? What kind of joke is this?”

“No joke. Neville sent me a gift. Lose this?” Brian reached back, swung the Vanguard folder over the headrest so it plopped onto the briefcase. When Paul stared mute, “You’re the only one who got the new orientation folder. How did you get into my accounts?”

Paul tensed, swallowed, “Your office. You left your computer signed in. Look. I just wanted to study your system. Because they say you’re the best.”

“Well your fucking flattery cost two major sales.”

Paul craned face-to-face, grabbed the binder. “I never gave this to ANYONE.”

“Not with the Welcome and Insurance pages. You were tailed by a goddamn corporate spy,” Brian flamed. “They follow you to clients. Sit beside you at airports. Read your laptop over your shoulder. So keep your car locked, your back to the wall and read the fucking Wall Street Journal.”

“Then…you’re not letting me go?”

“We hired you because you’re smart, aggressive and credible. If we want this relationship to work…” Brian’s train slipped, “…we have to get past this…and…” he noticed Paul’s confusion, covered by reclaiming the binder. “I’m keeping this. Is there anything else missing?”

“No,” Paul looked away. “Those were the only three I copied. Hemmerbeck, Crater and BioGen.”

Brian scowled, paged. No BioGenTech. Fucking Neville. “Have a nice day,” Brian flew out of the car, barely hearing Paul’s “Thanks, Brian” as Brian pulled his cell, dialed and unlocked the Jeep. He would’ve fired the bastard on the spot. But for some reason, he considered the other side.

“Cynthia. Get BioGen set up for a presentation as soon as possible. I don’t care how you do it. Just do it.”

Brian pitched the cell and binder inside, got in, slammed the door and leaned back. He didn’t have the main ad fleshed out. Wasn’t ready.

But a more important mission couldn’t wait.

Brian stopped the Jeep in front of Novotny’s, stared at the house. His hand lightly tapped the steering wheel to thoughts in motion, replaying Justin’s detailed account from last night. One last tap, then he left the car and walked to the front door.

It was late evening by the time Justin left PIFA. A little smile spread at the sight of the Jeep. Two nights in a row. Then the smile dimmed. Brian didn’t do pity. But that was getting hard to discount.

Justin opened the door, “Hey,” swung his pack in, followed it, shut the door and sniffed. “You got a pizza?” He eyed Brian’s weird grin.

“For later,” Brian stretched for a kiss and got a short one before gearing up.

“I thought you didn’t DO carbs after seven.”

“I can splurge once in awhile.”

Because you feel sorry for me? “Brian,” Justin looked at his fidgeting hands, “You don’t have to do all this…I mean…picking me up-”

“Do I ever do anything I don’t want to do?” Brian strained polite, could see they wouldn’t last to the Loft. So he pulled over and stopped.

“No,” Justin was mildly distracted by Brian’s fishing through the glove compartment, “It’s just that…sometimes I wonder about your reasons.”

“Few don’t,” Brian flicked on the dome light, unwrapped a handkerchief and laid it open on the seat between them. A piece of broken glass. “I found this in Vic’s trash.”

Justin eyed it, flared “What?” winced and leaned his head against a raised hand. “Goddammit, Brian, you didn’t tell him-”

“The bathroom trash,” Brian broke in, “And unless he was in there pissing WITH me, he doesn’t know shit. So quit being such a drama queen.”

Justin slid his hand under the handkerchief, lifted and studied the shard. “How did you know…”

“Because I know Vic. He’s careful, almost compulsive. He’d never leave anything behind that he thought might hurt someone.”

Justin rewrapped the piece, zipped it into his backpack. “Thanks.”

“We’ll still get tested in a few weeks, but I don’t think you’ll have anything to worry about.”

Justin threw his arms around Brian for a mutual hot kiss that Brian broke first.

“Come back to the Loft,” he watched Justin’s smile dip for a fraction. “Until you’re ready to go…home.” Maybe try again later.

Justin nodded okay.

Blue lights glistening off sweat-beaded bodies, Justin stretched beside Brian as they recovered from a steamy fuck.

Justin’s glow dampened, eyes elsewhere. “Mom cancelled dinner Sunday.”

“Because of me?”

“She said she had an Open House. But she wants to take us to lunch tomorrow. Noon at the Steakhouse.” Justin gazed right at Brian. “Would you come? I know it’s kinda last minute-”

“I’ll be there,” Brian smiled, returned Justin’s sprite kiss. He crooked an arm under his head, raised a knee, groaned. “I know I’ll hurt for awhile.”

“You’re the one who moved the coffee table,” Justin rolled to a sit, rubbed Brian’s leg.

“You should have been here to stop me.” He watched Justin lean in to gently kiss his knee. A rare man. Strong, sensitive. Beautiful. Brian stroked Justin’s back and tried to imagine life without this. “I want you to move back here…if you want.”

Justin froze a look, turned his back and drew into a cross-legged slump. “I don’t want to owe anybody, and you don’t have to take care of me.”

“I never said you couldn’t take care of yourself. And you’ll never owe me anything.”

“Can I think about it?” Justin whispered.

“You don’t need my permission.”

Justin half-smiled, “I hafta go. Got a heavy assignment due tomorrow,” left the bed and slowly dressed. When he saw Brian dressing on the other side, “Just stay here. I’ll be okay.”

Brian zipped his pants, stood shirtless. “We could’ve stopped and picked it up.”

“You’d queen out if I got paint on the hardwood floor,” Justin snickered.

Brian charged across the bed, thumped down and bear-hugged Justin-“I do NOT queen out,”-both laughing until they melted against each other. “Bring the paint. Buy the fucking spider. We’ll chain it on the landing and get rid of the alarm.”

Justin’s giggle quieted. They hadn’t laughed much in their last days of living together. “I’ll think about it.” Then he perked a smile, kissed Brian, backed off. “Later.”

Brian walked to the bedroom doorway as Justin skipped down steps, donned his backpack and saw himself out.

I won’t ask again. I don’t grovel. And you left me fucking HARD, you little shit. But I’ll wait. Because I…you’re worth it.

A busy morning at Vanguard. Brian stopped at Cynthia’s desk.

“What’s the word on BioGen?”

“Good morning, Cynthia…” she greeted herself to his tongue-in-cheek. “They’re tentatively set up for three o’clock this afternoon, but I’m waiting for a call-back.”

“That’s perfect,” Brian turned to his office.

“Brian? Can I take an hour off to run Chad to the airport?”

He stopped, looked back, “I really need you here. But I have a lunch appointment out there. I can drop him on my way.”

Justin bounced into the diner and up to Debbie at the counter with a line of customers. His unusually cheery smile widened hers.

“Hi, Sunshine. I can tell it’s payday,” she keyed the cash register open, reached under the bill tray and whipped out an envelope.

“That too,” he winked, took the check and shoved it into his pocket.

“Hi Sweetie!” Emmett turned on his counter barstool; Ted leaned past him and waved.

Justin waltzed over, “Hey, guys,” kissed Emmett. And Ted, who stiffly corner-eyed.

Emmett lit, “Somebody’s someone did something spe-cial.”

“Yeah,” Justin dreamed off, “He went through the trash for me…”

Emmett swooned, “My, that DOES sound…” then it registered, “…romantic,” as he watched Justin troop out the door. Then seriously to Ted, “I’ll never understand that relationship.”

“Don’t even try.” Ted glanced at his watch, swung off his stool. “Well, I have to meet a man about a job. Wish me luck…friend,” he squeezed Emmett’s shoulder and left.

“You go, Baby.”

Brian pulled to the curb in front of Liberty Air, checked his rear-view mirror and saw a familiar car swing in behind him. Tom slid out the passenger side and met the rising trunk lid. Ted stepped out to help, saw the Jeep and headed for Brian’s side.

Brian sighted Ted in his side-view as Chad hauled out his equipment with a “Thanks for everything, Mr. Kinney,” and slammed the door.

Brian rolled down his window. “Theodore Schmidt. You’re leaving town,” with a sarcastically broad smile.

“Just Tom. You’ll never believe this, but he asked me-”

“To marry you?”

“NO. To start a Pittsburgh branch for a new software company. His group just created an internal security program for businesses. It could be worth…a…LOT…of money,” Ted nodded wide-eyed. “Who’s HE?” Ted pointed at Chad.

Brian turned aside to see Chad and Tom exchanging reports, smiling. “Cynthia’s nephew. He’s into security breaching.”

“Are you serious?” Ted ogled. “We could be looking at the next Microsoft.”

Brian raised a brow. “Move aside.” He was out and over to the boys before Ted could ask why.

“Mr. Kinney,” Chad looked up, “This is a really good program,” Chad displayed a page of Tom’s gibberish.

“I forgot to give you my card,” Brian handed one to Tom, one to Chad. “Give me a call when you decide to go public. Good luck,” he smiled as they waved and headed into the terminal. Total strangers, now intimate brothers over some unreadable language. The Language.

Brian sprinted to his Jeep in time to avoid the cop who was ticketing Ted’s car. Ted was too busy pleading to notice Brian’s departure.

At the Loft, Brian fanned pages of BioGen’s file across his desk and shuffled until he located a sample DNA chart. Scanned it into his hard drive. Open program: Bio Ad. Onscreen, a bland picture of a DNA sequencer – could’ve been a laser printer for all its interest. Select and shrink data. Insert DNA chart at top. Color: Blue…lighter. Duplicate. Duplicate Color: Red…lighter. Select transparent. Overlay charts, slightly offset with purple merge points. Insert print top: A Perfect Match. Insert print bottom: Your Best Results and…select logo… BioGenTech. Save. Print.

If he ran it back to Creative, they just might have enough time to prep for presentation. He glanced at eleven-fifteen on his computer clock and knew he had to make a decision. Miss lunch with Justin, or blow his best shot with BioGen.

Waiting for the copy, Brian went to the fridge, opened it and scrounged for a beer. Saw a bottle of Dom Perignon shoved to the back. A souvenir reminder to fuck relationships. Or a warning about fucked up priorities? He pulled it out, stood it on the counter and focused on it as if it were some crystal ball with the answer.

The Steakhouse lunch crowd had dwindled to a few dawdlers. Jennifer sat at a table of used plates and watched Justin eulogize a note from their waitress.

“He called to say he can’t make it, and he’ll catch me later.”

“Justin,” she waited for his eyes, “When I mentioned his age, I wasn’t talking about years. I was talking about a professional with obligations and commitments. You have so much time before you have to put up with the missed lunches. Cancelled plans. Phone calls about being late at a meeting, or on a conference call. Last minute notice he has to leave town. It’s a large part of his time…that can’t include you.”

Justin hardened, “You knew he wouldn’t make it.”

“I was about ninety percent sure.”

“I guess you’re thrilled.”

“No, I’m NOT thrilled, Justin,” Jennifer stretched forward. “I wanted you to understand the reality of what you’re doing…and not limit yourself for that.”

“Then why did YOU?”

Jennifer bit her lip. She knew why. Didn’t want to counter the point she thought she’d made.

Liz and Harry approached before she could gather an answer.

“Hi, Justin!” Liz chirped. “I THOUGHT that was you.”

“Hey,” Justin half-smiled. “Mom, this is Liz and Harry from PIFA…” and to them, “This is my Mom.”

A round of hi-hello’s before Harry spoke. “We’re heading over to the Coffee Shop before going back to class. Wanna come?”

Justin checked Jennifer’s smiley nod, jammed the note into his pocket and left his seat. “Sure. Thanks for lunch, Mom.” He hesitated, lightly kissed her.

Jennifer breathed relief at the sight of Justin chattering with friends as they walked out. Maybe he DID have a life other than Brian. She lifted her coffee cup in both hands, elbows on the table, stared at Justin’s leftovers. She was losing her baby. To what.

She sat motionless for a few minutes, snapped to present when the waitress’s hand slid her check on the table. A man’s hand snatched it with “I’ll get that.” She looked up, surprised to see Brian.

“You just missed him,” she set her cup down.

He motioned to Justin’s chair, she nodded, he sat. “Was he-”

“Of course,” Jennifer softly answered, “But he’ll excuse it…and open himself up for more.”

“He’s not a little boy, Mrs. Taylor. He’s a man with his own ideas, own decisions.”

“I know that,” she stared stoic,“YOU’RE the one that worries me. I just want to know one thing,” she breathed heavier watching his emotionless face. “Do you love my son?”

What was with Taylors and words. Brian’s jaw flinched, eyes did a slow blink.

Not good enough. She leaned forward, more emphatic. “Do you love my son.”

Brian felt a vile rat in his gut, clawing to get out.

That night, alt Rock low in the background, Justin sat cross-legged on the floor beside his plant, shoebox file cabinet in his lap. He fingered a Liberty Air ticket wallet, opened it. A used boarding stub sat in the pocket with a refund receipt and a Vermont brochure. He blinked off a glaze, set the paper on the floor then took a folded white handkerchief from the box, carefully unwrapped it in his palm and rotated his hand to watch the light fragment through the little piece of glass.

“Hey Justin, you with us?” Liz called.

Justin looked over at Harry, Liz and her Beatnik Boyfriend lounging on large pillows and passing a jay, sketchpads and pencils scattered.

“Sure,” Justin balled the handkerchief, stared at the Liberty wallet, tossed both in the box then set it aside and crawled to join the group.

“Love your place,” Beatnik looked around, “But it’s gotta be a bitch sleepin’ in a chair,” he offered the jay.

“I wasn’t sure if I wanted more stuff around,” Justin accepted, “But I think I just decided.” He took a small hit. Just to dull the edge.

Brian, buzzed and listless clinked through the chains as he left Babylon’s back room. He heard a little clapping, a cheer and saw money change hands between three Tricks darting looks at him. Michael met him, clarified.

“They were betting on how long you’d be back there.”

“Longer than MOST of them,” Brian snorted, hung an arm around Michael’s neck and guided him away.

“I meant time,” Michael held on. “You know the new craze…E-Viagra hits.”

“Eeeeeeverybody wants to be fucking Brian Kinney.”

“I don’t wanna pry-”

“Then don’t.”

“-but if you had a fight with Justin-”

Brian pulled away. “We don’t even live together. What the fuck is there to fight about.”

“You’re not…”

They stood eyeing each other a moment before Brian answered too sober, too somber. “He doesn’t trust me anymore. And I don’t blame him,” Brian left.

Michael caught up with him in the parking lot beside the Jeep. “Did he say that?”

Brian jingled through keys, searching for the right one. “You know Justin. I’m supposed to figure it out,” Brian paused, looked straight at Michael, “Do you know his mother asked me if I loved him? And I said yes? And I STILL don’t know what the fuck it meant?”

“I think you do,” Michael touched his arm, “Or you wouldn’t have said yes in the first place.”

Brian mulled that, unlocked his door and got in. “Are you walking?”

Michael reanimated and circled to the passenger side to join him.

“You can drop me off at Ben’s,” Michael fastened his seatbelt, “Then you’re gonna go home…and figure it out.”

Brian exhaled, looked at Michael. Even in the dark he could feel the jabbing stare.

Brian walked into the dark Loft, halted short of the light switch when he noticed a strange glow on the floor. Streetlight was shining through the window. But he’d closed the blinds before he’d left.

Moving slowly past the hall, he looked across the living room at Justin’s silhouette sitting sideways on the window ledge beneath the raised blinds, his cast shadow filling the room more than the furnishings ever did.

“I…stole your spare key this morning. Thought I’d surprise you.”

Brian stopped short of the light. Feelings like this made him uncomfortable, good as they were. Some not so good. Why are you here? What do you want? I can only give you what I know, and some things aren’t that clear for me. But I’ll give you all I can, if you’ll take it.

“Don’t expect me to say…I love you.”

“Don’t expect me to say I know.”

Brian stepped into the light and realized that the strange shadows cast were from two plants, and an easel.

Song: “Stay (Airscape Mix)” by Wendy Phillips

(Hope you enjoyed this story. Now on to the real Season Three. London)

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