When he woke up daylight was streaming through the window. Apparently he had slept slightly longer than he'd expected. That or you got a better class of morning in this neighbourhood.

He opened his eyes slightly; Rusty was sitting up in bed next to him, blanket twined around his legs, seemingly intent on the book he was reading. Squinting his eyes, Livingston could just make out the title; Pride and Prejudice. That seemed kind of unlikely.

He looked younger than Livingston had thought. In fact, if he had to guess, he'd say that Rusty was a few years younger than he was. It was probably a matter of self-confidence. After all, he'd never have the nerve to pick someone up in a bar. Except he kinda had. And now he was lying in someone else's bed.

How exactly were one night stands supposed to work? Perhaps he should have left in the middle of the night, or even immediately afterwards. Though Rusty had told him to stay . . . but it might have been one of those things, where people told you to do something expecting you to know that they didn't mean it. But he never knew.


"Want some breakfast?" Rusty asked, without looking up from his book.

He blushed, knowing that – somehow – he'd been caught staring. "Uh, great. That's be just . . . great."

Rusty shrugged off the blanket, stood up and stretched lazily. He was, of course, completely naked. Livingston hurriedly averted his eyes and listened to the leisurely sounds of drawers opening and shutting.

"You can look now. I'm decent." Rusty sounded amused.

Livingston turned round; he was dressed in tight jeans and a white t-shirt. "You look good." he said involuntarily.

Rusty actually looked surprised. "Thanks. You want me to . . . ?" he nodded towards Livingston's clothes, neatly folded on the chair. Livingston was vaguely impressed that in the midst of everything he'd still managed to think of creases. He was even more impressed that Rusty had simply stood back and waited for him.

He nodded, suddenly horribly aware of his own nakedness. He waited until Rusty had turned his back before quickly pulling on his own clothes. "Guess this seems pretty stupid, huh." he said, as Rusty turned back around.

Tilting his head thoughtfully, Rusty appeared to think for a few moments. "Odd." he said finally. "Not stupid. We all have our quirks."

"Keeps things interesting." For some reason an image of Rusty innocently eating a hotdog flashed into his mind. Concentrating on not blushing, he followed Rusty into the main room. The mess had mysteriously vanished.

"Guess he's up." Rusty muttered, crossing to the refrigerator. "OK, we got eggs, donuts, burger relish, a tub of humus for some reason – ugh. How does French toast and coffee sound?"

"That'd be great." he repeated, wishing he didn't feel so awkward.

"Right." A couple of moments of lazy rummaging in a cupboard followed. "Ah. We're almost out of bread."

"We could skip breakfast." he said hastily. "I'm not that hungry." He didn't want to be the cause of any inconvenience.

"Uh uh. I skip meals and bad things happen. Look, I'll run out to the shop. Could you fix coffee? The stuff's on the counter there."

"Sure." he nodded.

"I'll be back in five." He vanished out the door.


An instant later the second bedroom door opened. Two things struck Livingston immediately; one, Rusty's flatmate was almost as good-looking as Rusty; and two, Rusty's flatmate's 'latest crush' was, in fact, a woman.

"There's a man in your living room." The girl announced.

"Oh. Hi." The guy sounded surprised.

Crap. Crap, crap, crap. Rusty's flatmate was straight. He'd just assumed that he'd be gay. What should he do now? Suppose the guy didn't know Rusty liked guys? He couldn't run the risk of outing the first guy who'd looked at him in two years.

"Uh, hi. Rusty just popped out to get some bread. For breakfast. You're probably wondering why I'm here. Well, I'm a friend of Rusty's, and I happened to meet him in a bar last night, and, well, I missed the last train home, and Rusty said I could sleep on his floor. So I did. Sleep with him . . . uh . . . sleep in his room, where he was also sleeping." He took a breath. "And that's why I'm here."

All the time he was talking the guy had just been watching him, smiling slightly. "Oh. I just assumed you guys were screwing. I'm Daniel Ocean by the way. You can call me Danny."


Well of course it was Danny. Think about it for two minutes, would you? Can you think of anyone else in the universe who could persuade Rusty to cook for him and then throw him out of the house? Not to mention, I'm not actually convinced that anyone else could actually live with Rusty. I mean, I love the guy, but Jeez!


Livingston had stopped spluttering by the time Rusty came back. "Hi, Susie. Morning, Danny." he nodded, seemingly completely unphased by the sight of the three of them sitting round the table drinking coffee. "You guys want breakfast?"

Susie looked at her watch. "I'll just have time." she announced. "I've got that launch in a couple of hours. Did you say you guys had the day off today, Danny?"

"Yeah." Danny nodded.

"You guys work together?" Livingston asked curiously.

Just for a fraction of a second the atmosphere grew tense. Susie didn't seem to notice, but he certainly did. And he caught a quick glance between the two flatmates that he would swear somehow contained an entire conversation.

And just like that it was over. "Same company different departments." Rusty answered easily, rattling pans expertly.

"What are you making anyway?" Danny asked, and suddenly the subject was closed.


Yeah, I know why they were nervous. See they had this thing, back then – maybe they still do it, I'm not sure - where they'd always say they worked together, but they had this really bad habit of not agreeing on a story beforehand. Think it's because they never really expected anyone to stick around. I don't know . . .

Anyway, Rusty mostly went for cute lines, like his logistics thing, you know? Just things that amused him. Danny, on the other hand, used to just come up with the most preposterous cover stories. I think Susie thought that they worked for a fashion magazine, and I know that he told a couple of people they were landscape gardeners.

Well of course everyone believed him. He's Danny Ocean, after all. He could sell the Statue of Liberty back to the French. Actually, I think they did that once . . .


After breakfast was eaten, and Susie had departed the three of them lounged around, talking and drinking coffee. Well, Livingston and Danny were drinking coffee. Rusty was drinking a can of Mountain Dew – something that Livingston hadn't even seen since he was an undergrad playing D&D.

He'd meant to leave immediately after breakfast. He really had. But he'd gotten into an argument with Danny about Da Vinci, and somehow it just hadn't happened.

He had to admit – with the notable exception of the events of last night – this was the most fun he'd had in months. Rusty and Danny were really easy to talk to and funny. It was only now that he realised how much he'd missed talking to people he actually liked. Too bad he'd probably never see either of them again after today.

"So you want to go somewhere tonight?" Rusty asked him suddenly.

Before he could even think of trying to answer, Danny laughed. "I've got to get you one of those rule books for your birthday."

Livingston blinked. "Rule books?"

"You know, one of those dating rule books that tell you things like you're not supposed to ask people out if there's someone else in the conversation."

"We're dating?" Livingston blurted out, and immediately wished he hadn't.

For a second – for less than a second – Livingston would have sworn that Rusty looked hurt. Then he leaned back against the arm of the couch and with an expression of casual disinterest said, "Not if you don't want to."

Danny's tone and expression were pointedly neutral. "I'm sorry. I just assumed."

"No!" Livingston shouted hastily. He just hadn't been expecting it, was all. "I just hadn't . . . " he swallowed. "I mean, I'd love to go out with you, Rusty."

Rusty grinned happily. "Good."


Danny started clearing up the coffee mugs.

"So, tonight?" Rusty persisted. "That new movie, Dead Poet's Society is premiering. I could get tickets."

"I can't do tonight." he found himself saying. "I've got plans." He didn't, but there was just a vague thought in the back of his mind that he should be playing hard to get.

Rusty shrugged. "OK, I could get them for tomorrow. It won't be the premiere, but the movie'll be the same. And we can go out for dinner afterwards."

"That sounds great." he said enthusiastically. After all, there was only so much playing hard to get a man could reasonably do when sitting on the object of his affections' couch.

Danny coughed. "Rus'? We've got that thing tomorrow night remember. And if you think I'm telling Saul that we have to cancel because you've got a date then you've lost your mind."

"I'd forgotten." Rusty said, with an apologetic glance at him.

"What thing?" Livingston asked.

"It's a meet and greet thing at an art gallery. More an exercise in client-pleasing than anything else." Danny waved a hand dismissively.


If I had to guess, I'd say that the part about the art gallery was the truth.

What? Yeah, we got a date sorted out eventually. I suppose, if you think about it, if we hadn't I wouldn't be here.

So what do you reckon? By the way, just for my own curiosity, how many people just assumed that Danny was Rusty's flatmate in chapter one?