Even if I was sure which content warnings to put, it would only give away spoilers, slight NSFW I suppose though. Hinted. This chapter is rather grim and raw, and something I've been dreading writing for about 3 years now, so just bear that in mind whilst reading. But it's pretty central to the plot and a lot of things have not only worked up to it, but depend on it to actually happen in the future.

I would like to point out though I am now onto the chapters set in December, something I said would happen last November. I can't believe it's taken me 3 years to write two months. 35 chapters worth of bullshit happened in two months…

...

The chill in the air was borderline cruel, Logan noted as he wrapped his jacket tighter around himself. His teeth chattered and ice clung to his hair, nose and eyelashes, and the young man struggled to stay upright as he slipped and slid across the pavement. Snow had fallen a few days ago and now all that was left were the black dregs stomped into a perilous ice blanket that would probably do some serious damage if he were to slip over.

At least Charlie had gotten some fun out of the snow, running about the garden having a whale of a time. If Oscar had been inclined to join in, he didn't have the opportunity to due to all that revision he needed to get through. His first exam had been today, drama and theatre studies, something nice and easy to get him started. Now the boy had finally been convinced to go to bed, because a history exam in the morning and a maths one in the afternoon was not something a person should face on a couple hours sleep.

With both kids tucked in for the night, sure that- should something go wrong- Oscar would be responsible enough to get himself and Charlie to safety, Logan turned his attentions to what was simply the only way he could see making money, mind numb as he walked.

There were no jobs in this little town. Even with Christmas coming up, he'd not been able to land an interview, no matter how low-paying or temporary the job was, and now he had no choice but to resort to something he'd thought he'd never have to do again.

Logan knew the drill, had the equipment, but didn't know where to look in town. In London, it had been easier, not only to find the right place, but he'd been younger. Prettier, even.

The pub would be the best place to start, he supposed, not only to hopefully get a few words of encouragement out of Arthur and Francis, but those two would know all about this. They knew everything that went on in this town, from cocaine dealers to which high school louts now carried knives to, well…

Logan shivered as he entered the pub, finally free of that wind and freeze that sunk down into his bones. Would there even be anyone stupid enough to go outside tonight? Apart from Logan himself, that is.

The place was a little too crowded for his liking, packed full of football fans cheering at the screen, but maybe that would be helpful in the long run, that many people being out on the street.

Arthur and Francis were swamped right now, taking orders from too many people for Logan to get a word in, so he waited. Impatiently. Logan wasn't the most forbearing of people at the best of times, but now time was money and he didn't want to miss his window of opportunity. Then again, he wasn't exactly opposed to putting this off for another hour or so.

Eventually, he caught Arthur's eye and the man made his way over.

"The usual?" he asked gruffly, but Logan shook his head.

"Hey listen," he began, mouth horribly dry, "can I talk to you and Frankie if y'can catch a break at some point?"

Arthur blew his fringe out of his eyes, pulling a face. "I don't know, friend. Premier league game and all, we're a bit busy."

"Please, this is important!"

"Oh," Arthur's face softened, "well, I know you wouldn't ask unless you had to, so go out to the garden and we'll join you in a bit."

With some reluctance, Logan left the warmth of the pub and snuck into the wonderfully empty but absolutely freezing beer garden. There were a handful of tables bordered by wooden fences, ashtrays littering the place and an outdoor heater perched in the corner, perfectly heightening the smell of cigarette smoke. Logan crouched down next to it and rubbed his hands together as he waited for the others, revelling in its warmth as he tried not to think about the coming night.

He might chicken out if he did.

Logan hoped he looked like he'd made an effort. He'd even ironed his best jeans and under his jacket he'd not bothered to button up his sleeveless shirt, hair neat, shoes clean, everything perfect but nowhere to go.

After possibly hours cramped in the cold, he was finally joined by Arthur and Francis.

"We can't stay long," Arthur told him curtly, "we left the new kids in charge, some college-age idiots with half a braincell between them. Honestly, we'd have been better off with you."

"Good to know," Logan grunted as he pulled his stiff legs into a standing position.

He joined the other two at one of the tables, still rubbing his hands together as both of them lit up a cigarette each.

"So what's the problem, my young friend?" asked Francis, taking a long drag on his cigarette and unsure if he should reach out a comforting hand.

"Well, I want some advice," Logan began, "and I'm guessing you both know a bit about some of the dodgy stuff that goes on in and around this place."

"You're not considering doing a line in the toilets are you?" Arthur growled, "because we kick people out for that carryon. Unless they're tougher than us."

"What? No way!" Logan wrinkled his nose, "like I can afford drugs right now."

"Still no luck finding a job?" Francis still managed to look graceful as he said that, furrowing his thin brows together and stroking his stubble.

"Nah, that's why I'm here."

"We still don't have any vacancies," Arthur informed him, "but if we ever fire those idiots you'll be the first to know."

"Right, sure, well until then I need a way to make money and in London I had a way that I'm thinking of getting back into, until I find something else at least."

"If you want to become a drugs dealer, do it somewhere else," snapped Arthur.

"I don't want to be a drug dealer!" Logan rolled his eyes, "well, I don't want to do this either but… yeah."

"Do what?" Somehow, Logan suspected Francis was faking ignorance.

"Whaddya mean? Come on, don't make me say it out loud." Logan shifted uncomfortably. He wasn't quite ready to admit it to himself, but exactly how much longer could he keep stalling?

He groaned at their blank faces. "Look, I'll be blunt. Which part of town is popular with curb-crawlers?"

Well that caught their attention. Arthur's brows furrowed together as he tried to process why his friend could possibly ask such a thing, but Francis knew. He knew exactly what Logan needed to do and probably how to do it.

"Why would you need to know that?" Arthur asked, still not wanting to believe what he was hearing. "I assume you do not have the money for that sor-"

"Ew, of course I'd never!" Logan thought he'd be sick at the thought, "but it's a fast way to make money I don't have! A lot too. Seriously, it's how I got a place for us after our dad fucked off."

"How awful to hear," Francis lamented, voice sombre, "and at such a young age too..."

"Well, life goes on, and stuff, and I need to move on with mine and find a new job. This is the only option at the moment."

"Like fuck it is!" exclaimed Arthur, "things aren't so bad you have to sell yourself."

"It it," Logan growled, "I'm behind on rent, badly, and if this'll stop Oscar and Charlie from being homeless or getting taken away, so be it."

"Please reconsider," Arthur begged, "if you're thinking of your children, think about what would happen to them if you got killed, and you could get killed pretty easily doing something like that."

"Shut up," Logan muttered, "don't you think I know that?"

"Is there not some other way of making money like this?" Arthur's brows knotted together, "you know, online."

Logan shrugged. "Camming? I wouldn't know how to get started. And there's a chance the kids would find out and I wouldn't be able to do it during the holidays or if they were off sick so it would be hard."

"An escort agency?"

"I don't know if this town has one. And would I be able to get out eventually? And how much of my earnings would they take? I don't know."

"Then go to the job centre."

"They might take the little ones away if I can't find something. And I don't think we can live on what they'd give me. I don't want to risk it."

Arthur didn't seem satisfied with that answer in the slightest, simply choosing to scowl at him from across the table. Francis, whom had been in deep thought until that point, finally decided to rejoin the conversation. Logan's chest surged with adrenaline and anticipation.

"I know a lot of girls in the same position as you," he began, soberly, snubbing his cigarette out in the ashtray, "they come in here from time to time and we talk. I can give you the road they… work at, if you need, but I implore you, please reconsider. I will not stop you, just beg you to find another path. Yes, I know people in this business, but a lot of them have been beaten or killed, and no one else cared. Not even the police."

"I have to risk it," Logan gave a curt nod.

"Then may I enquire if you came prepared? I cannot let you go out there 'unprotected', as it were. That would only add to your danger."

"Yes, damn," Logan rolled his eyes, "stop stallin' and give me the damn address so I can get on with it."

...

It had been just as bad as before.

Logan was back outside the pub, hating the fresh batch of snow that covered his trembling body, and in the back of his mind he wondered if it would be enough to bury him here, or make him feel the slightest bit clean again.

He didn't even want to stand here. It reminded him of that run-down half-alley, half-road he'd wandered on for a good hour before a car pulled up. And the car park he'd been left at as he watched the car slowly drive away.

He was out of practice, it seemed, unused to the procedure, the sensation. How utterly helpless he was and no matter how much he tried to think about anything else, it still invaded his mind as he struggled to not let his discomfort show to his client. Still, maybe he just needed time. After all, he soon learned to switch off from the world every time, think about what he would make for dinner instead, his shopping list, what he would spend his money on, all little thoughts he distracted himself with, like in any other job when he was bored or unhappy.

It had been nice to get out of the cold, he had to admit. The client had left his car heater on, blowing beautifully warm air onto his back that almost made up for everything.

But now he was back in the cold with a churning stomach and crawling skin.

Logan didn't know why he always felt like this whenever he was picked up by a client. When there was no money involved- just booze and lust and near-anonymity- and said relationship was barely longer than a session with a client, it never felt this… unclean. Terrifying. Logan was a big lad, but he always felt powerless in those situations, trapped with people he found absolutely repulsive. That was probably why.

"What are you doing out here?" Francis' voice nearly made him jump out of his skin, and Logan slipped on the icy pavement, clutching the doorway to stop him falling on his face. Well wouldn't that just be the perfect way to end a night?

"Fuck me with a poker!" he exclaimed, "why would you sneak up on a guy like that?"

"No need to be so jumpy," Francis muttered, "and I was not sneaking up on you; we're closing up for the night."

"So the place is empty then?" Logan asked hopefully, "could I sit down for a bit? I think I'm gonna chunder."

"Well please, I would rather provide a bucket than have you empty your stomach on my porch, like nearly everyone who was here earlier."

"Eww," Logan wiped his feet on the mat before entering the now desolate pub with Francis. Had be been more imaginative, more innocent and more inclined to care, he might have pondered the strange, magical edge of an empty pub, especially as Francis turned on the lights over the bar, casting the rest of the room into shadow, and the soft velvet red of the walls and sofas. Logan ran a hand over the pool table as he walked past, still unsteady on his legs.

As he sank himself onto a bar stool, Francis passed him a shot of clear liquid, the burn on his throat as he swallowed telling him it was vodka.

"It's on the house," the other told him.

"No, no," Logan waved a hand, "I just got paid."

"How do you feel?" asked Francis, voice low.

"Sick. Rough. I want to go to sleep and not wake up again."

Francis leaned forward, resting a hand on Logan's and rubbing it with a pointy thumb.

"Your little ones will want and need you to wake up tomorrow.

"They don't need a deadbeat like me."

"Come on Logan, you're a brilliant young man and it pains me to see you so broken. This is a tough time, and you will get out of this one day. Do what you need to do now, and hopefully it will get you to where you want eventually."

"I'm sure I'll give a fuck about what you said when I'm sober," Logan mumbled, gesturing for a refill. "Thanks though."

"So did you use protection?" Francis asked as he handed Logan a full shot glass.

"Yeah. Not stupid. I mean, how the fuck could I get a job from hospital?"

…

He'd not bothered to turn on the lights, and now the silence and darkness enveloped him, not unlike his mother's arms had done when he was tiny. He still needed to shower, and get rid of the smell that lingered in the air, reminding him of what he'd done. His muscles ached. His hair fell greasy across his ears and forehead. The bags under his eyes burned with exhaustion but he didn't want to sleep just yet. His mouth tasted disgusting with the remains of the sick that was now on the pub floor, and another load under a hedge. Logan hadn't even bothered to take off his jacket, still feeling a chill and too numb to function properly yet.

Luckily, the little ones were still asleep, and he could be alone with his thoughts. Blurred, buzzing thoughts. Thoughts that were quickly taking on the voice of his father.

Yeah, definitely for the best his old man had pissed off on them, because the bastard would probably have a word or two to say about his son, his wonderful oldest disappointment. Every insecurity, every sickening feeling swirling through his stomach, came back, vibrating through his brain as that man's words, spat at him, taunting him.

What had his life become? What had he become? How could everything go wrong in such a short space of time?

What would Hunapo think of him now? What if Oscar and Charlie ever found out? He'd kept it a secret from them last time, so he'd just do it again. None of them could ever know of this though, and he didn't want to ponder what they would think of him. If they would pity him.

He stared down at the wad of cash on the coffee table, enough for the rent, a week's shopping, maybe their bills if he was frugal with the shopping.

He'd have to do it again soon though.

Logan's hands trembled as he scooped up the money and stuffed it into his jacket pocket, like he was afraid someone would appear from the darkness and snatch it away.

He groaned to himself, electing to go to bed before his thoughts drove him mad.

...

Yeah, can y'all see why I had my convictions about writing this? TBH the only reason I finished so soon was because I had a flow, but mostly because I am just fueled by anger over recent political events and needed to take that rage out on characters worse off than me. I'm still angry though. Might have to have a drink. Not supposed to medically but fuck it. Also my wrinkly left fanny flap of a laptop's been a little non-working cunt and making this hard to write.

Bill Wurtz's new has cheered me up considerably though.

I should stop using author's notes like they're my damn twitter.

Also yeah I imagine APH Australia absolutely fucking hates the cold. He hates unbearable heat waves, but definitely prefers hot weather over cold.