Author's Note: I wasn't sure I was going to post this fic. The idea came to me while waking up one morning and I wanted to make sure it was well written as possible before I would even consider letting it be seen by others. I am in the midst of finishing up writing (literally on paper) chapter two, but unfortunately that doesn't mean its garunteed I will be updating anytime soon, becuase I tend to be pretty lazy when it comes to typing. I do have the basic outline of this fic planned out and am excited to see it through. I hope you enjoy and please leave reviews ^^.

Disclaimer: I do not own Queer as Folk am merely borrowing the boys for a little while.

Decompose: Decay into nothingness

Prologue

The dim lighting due to the darkened clouds in the sky brought forth a depressing atmosphere for many of the inhabitants of Pittsburg on what may have been its coldest day on record. The cold wind pierced even the warmest of jackets of those few brave souls who wandered the streets that afternoon. One lone figure seemed adverse to the cold effects as the wind picked up speed and began a heavy onslaught. He wore naught but a thin light jacket, jeans that looked a size or two too big and he had shoes riddled with holes. To anyone whom may have gotten close enough to see, his complexion was deathly pale and bottom lip had split from the cold. His whole body shook as he carried on, but his face showed no indication of effects the cold brought on.

His mind began to wander, as it often did, and he thought of what colors he would use for a painting of such a day like this, or if the children from his drawings last summer would return this summer. Things that at one time, what now seemed many lifetimes ago, would have brought him joy, but now instead acted as a simple passing of time.

As time slowly ticked by and the day made its way towards end the figure found shelter under a bridge in a park he frequented often. Pushing up as close to the wall as he could the figure folded into himself not for warmth, but for protection from any who might stumble upon him. He had learned that valuable lesson some time before and it was one he had never forgotten. With but a sigh passing his lips the figure stared out into the night waiting…

I cannot remember when exactly my ability to feel stopped. I am not even quite sure how long it has been since I last saw the place I called home. Home, it is one of those words people tend to use loosely, like the words 'love' or 'happy'. Home is something, just a word, people have stereotyped as a pleasant place to be, but pleasant was never a word that came to mind in my memory of the place. Home is a place for families, but the people in my 'home' surely could not of been considered my family. Family would imply 'happy' when paired together with the word 'home'. It is then assumed that the 'family' in the 'home' are 'happy' and thus 'love' each other and that leaves no reason for people, outsiders, to see anything more or look any deeper at the 'family'.

I then, lived in a house, for house is a word that does not hold the same connotation as home. In comparison the word house seems colder, less personal. I lived with people, not family, because while blood may have genetically related use to one another we were not happy and did not love one another. I lived in a house with people. To my knowledge I have never known happy or family and I have never had a home, but if you were to ask the neighbors of that house they would have told you otherwise.

Time has become irrelevant; I have long since stopped seeking out warmth, in any sense of the word. To say I have stopped feeling completely would not be complete truth. I remember, what seems like ages ago now, when I had first found myself on the streets, that I constantly searched out warmth. Warmth from the cold, warmth of other people. When I had lived in the house, at the very least the people were familiar and while we did not get along, and most of the time I wished nothing more to be as far away from them as possible, I could rely on the fact that they were there and did not seem to be going anywhere. I learned quickly, the hard way, there were no such assurances here. The life I have become accustomed to is not pretty. In fact, even now, after however much time may have passed, there is still a part of me that is ashamed of who I am and what I have become, though recently I have noticed that even that feeling of shame has begun to fade.

I find that I spend most of my days wondering different areas of the city. Through experience I have learned which areas are safer than others, although safe is a relative term. In the winter I do not travel far from Liberty Ave. though, weather can have a drastic affect on people's behavior. At nights I sell my body and after I sleep in one of my regular spots if I am even able to sleep that night at all. The actual act of sex for money is just that, all it is is a job. A job that gives me the ability to make it through life. The way I look at it is that I keep regular hours, rates and have never let another man fuck me raw. I even make sure I get tested regularly, though I have no real explanation for why I try to keep myself safe or why I even still care, it just feels like something important, like it has been ingrained in my head over and over.

It is a day like any other. The sun has come back out, but judging from how others have dressed the temperature must not be much warmer than before. The sun's return, though, has brought back the normal hustle and bustle of the day. I woke from under the bridge to a vehicle's obnoxious horn blaring into the pre-dawn filled minutes of yet another morning. By my best estimations I slept for a little over two and a half hours. The edginess of being awoken so abruptly has yet to leave me. In the hours I have been awake I have found myself, on several different occasions, unconsciously pressing my hands to my pockets and other various parts of my body, checking that I still have what few possessions I have managed to keep with me.

I was paid way more than usual two nights ago. The trick was nervous, too nervous, and came from my barely fondling his balls, through his pants I might add. He insisted on giving me a blow job, but between his jittery movements and mumbling on about his wife and kids at home it felt like forever before I finally came. His droning on and on about his family was more likely to make me sick than anything else, so, while not safe in this line of work, I tuned him out. In the end everything seemed to have worked out, I made three-hundred, up front of course, and he got his hour as a homo before he returned home to his picket fenced homo hating suburbia. I typically don't take but one or two clients every few nights or so and with what this particular trick had been willing to fork over I could be set for a while, granted it is not stolen off me.

Thus bringing me back to my current predicament; separated and located on several different places on my body was nearly all of the money I had received from the other night, I had hardly used any of it yesterday. It made me uneasy to have so much on me and I had become hyperaware of the few people around me in the park. I often come to the park in the early morning when I am staying near Liberty Ave. I like being able to gaze up at the stars some nights and the colors of dawn and dusk are intriguing even still. Before, in my other life I would have used all the different hues I saw to express myself in a way the others in the house never understood. Glancing up I notice the sun has started to rise over the tops of building in the distance and slowly I begin my trek towards the infamous street.

In the time I have been living on the streets I have not stepped foot into Liberty Diner. I have though, back when I first started out on the streets, rummaged through it's dumpsters. An unfortunate side effect of growing up WASP is that I have not been able to go into establishments unless dire necessity dictates my doing so. The longer I gaze at the colorful building the more I feel hunger clawing its way into the forefront of my mind. I reluctantly begin to pull myself away from the bright and lively colored building as I mull over my appearance and glance up to study my reflection as I pass a store's large window. My hair has grown long; its originally blonde color has now been dulled, though I suspect it is in slightly better condition considering I managed about a ten minute cold shower maybe 5 or so days ago. My light jacket is worn down and has a small tear in the area of the right wrist and its grey color black in a few spots. What little I can see of my shirt, from the zipper opening of the jacket, is the relatively the same blue color it was when I purchased it from a little second hand shop a few weeks back. My gaze begins to travel back upwards, only allowing a quick glance at my ill fitting jeans and torn shoes. Finally, my gaze rests on my face and I unconsciously bring a hand up to rub at a spot of dirt on my cheek. My complexion has taken on a deathly pale look, the bags under my eyes only add to my death warmed over appearance.

It is my eyes that haunt me the most though. While staring intently into their now almost grey color, I feel but for a fleeting second, a stab of pain. Pain from anger, pain from anguish, pain from agonized and pristine defeat, but most of all pain from wanting to be loved. As soon as the crippling feeling had come forth, it was gone and I found myself turning to walk away. I want to run, escape, and get away from it all. Momentarily I am frozen in place and that's when a voice breaks through my barrier of panic, standing out above all the other early morning noises. I feel control of my body returning to me and I begin to run away wanting far away from this place and the commotion around. My shoes decide at that moment to give out and I am soon tumbling to the ground. The soft thud and momentary pain from my body making contact with concrete brings back the panic to escape, but I realize it is too late, because the voice is drawing ever closer.

He told me his name is Emmett and despite how many time I have tried to dissuade him from his tirade of apologies, I honestly feared it may have never ended. After helping me get back on my feet the tirade began and nearly fifteen minutes later it was still continuing at a fairly regular rate. Emmett had brought my inside the store he worked at and whose window I had found myself staring intently into while studying myself. Torso, being the name of the store, was filled with a wide variety of clothing in many different colors and designs. I must admit the glitter and sparkle of the store unnerved me some. Not but a minute after the thought had crossed my mind Emmett seemed to have noticed my attire and instantly began flitting around the store grabbing articles here and there before thrusting half of a fairly large pile into my own arms and guiding me back into a changing room.

This brings me to now, stripping off my clothes to try on new ones, showing them to Emmett and allowing him to gush over his choices. I have begun to noticeably tire though, his personality is quite draining, along with the taking on and off of clothes. My eyes have become heavy and my limbs are beginning to feel as though they are filled with lead. Trying as quickly as possible to get my own clothes back on I stumble as my legs give out and for a second feel but a fleeting moment of pain.

Brian's POV

Rubbing my forehead gently in an attempt to abate the oncoming headache I sigh heavily and get out of my car as I begin my walk into the hospital to find Theodore and Emmett. It would seem that while working today one of Emmett's customers had passed out on him while trying on some clothes. Emmett, blaming himself for God knows why, had managed to convince the paramedics into a ride to the hospital with said stranger. Of course, today would be the day that Theodore's car is in the shop and Cynthia is home with the flu, leaving me with the responsibility of getting Theodore to the hospital and to Emmett's rescue. I pinch the bridge of my nose and take a deep breath before passing through the doors that open into the emergency room. Spotting Theodore comforting Emmett in one of the far corners I make my way there and lean against the wall while waiting until Theodore gives the signal that we can leave. I close my eyes briefly and block out the noise from the general hustle and bustle of the E.R. Feeling a tap on my shoulder I turn and look at Theodore who then points at a doctor talking to Emmett a few paces away. Emmett is on the verge of spilling more tears as he turns and looks at me for help and I sigh as I go over to find out what is wrong.

It appears that hospital was more worried about getting paid than caring for some gay street kid, or at least that's the condensed version of the story the doctor gave me. Which only led to fueling my frustration over this situation to anger, I assured the doctor I would pay and followed a nurse to quickly fill out some paper work over the matter. Upon returning I was latched on to by Emmett before he began to pull me down the hall and through a door in which I nearly fell from the abruptness of my own stop. My eyes became transfixed on a pale blonde sleeping on a hospital bed in the middle of the room. I immediately become confused by my actions, seeing as the kid was not even close to being my type, but of one thing I am sure, the little drama princess resting in the sterile hospital was wrapping us all around his little finger, without even being awake.