J.T

After dinner, dad still isn't home but, really, I hadn't been expecting anything different. Brian and I helped clean the dishes – she had told us to go and that she had it but I had insisted that we didn't mind helping her out. But, the real reason for my act of helpfulness was to keep Brian and I in an area where we wouldn't be totally alone. The very thought of being alone with him makes me feel extremely nervous.

Not nervous in a bad way.

Nervous in a "What if he tries to kiss me and I freak out like a scared little kid" way.

Brian doesn't seem to mind helping my mom. Actually, he won't shut up. Making jokes with her, which is kind of good considering that she hasn't really been that happy lately so…this is good for her. Brian, I guess, is what she needs. Hell, he's what I need too. Physically and mentally. If he keeps my mom like this it'll keep me sane. Like, if she's ok that I'll be ok and, at the moment, she's ok. And, me…I'm definitely ok.

Especially with Brian "accidentally" touching my hands under the water, foamy with soap. I'm so totally glad our dishwasher is broken. I smile slightly and continue washing the plate that I have when I realize it's the same plate I've been washing for, at least, ten minutes. Brian smirks over at me, "I think the plate's clean, Justin." I roll my eyes and send him a mock glare and place the plate on the drying rack.

"You can never be too clean."

My mom smiles.

"Since when are you clean?"

I pretend I'm disappointed in her for not taking my back. "I guess I was just…distracted." Brian's fault. And he knows it. I can tell by the smile on my face. I hope my mom doesn't catch on. That's something she really doesn't need right now. Finding out about me on top of all her other problems, but, a part of me wishes that I could tell her. So I could talk to her about things like…Brian instead of telling Daphne everything.

Everyone needs a mother to talk to.

"You are an artist."

I take the dishtowel I'm drying my hands with and slap him as hard as I can with it. He only does the same thing with his own towel and soon we're dancing around the kitchen whipping each other with dishtowels while my mom is trying to get us to stop but laughing to much to get it out correctly. "Guys!" Brian hits me on my arm. Have I mentioned that I bruise insanely easily? Yeah, not too long from now there will probably be bruises everywhere. My mom finally separates us, taking both our towels away from us and demanding that we calm down with a smile on her face.

"How 'bout we watch a movie."

We both nod. How can we say no? So, she leads us out into the living room and begins searching through our movies. "Ok, boys, sit down. It's time for a chick flick." She holds up The Notebook. Great. I hate this movie. Well, I don't hate it. The movie's really good, actually but, should she really subject herself to such a down-right depressing movie? Before I can protest, though I know it won't do any good, Brian falls down on the couch saying that he hadn't seen it yet so, it was settled. My mom couldn't wait to show Brian the movie. Rolling my eyes, I sat down next to him, curling my legs underneath me and trying not to sit too close to Brian. He scooted over closer anyway so me trying didn't matter.

Then my mom's sitting next to me.

And the movie starts.

B.K

The movie was good.

I mean, for a chick flick, I guess. Plus, the guy is hot, which made it all the better. Except...the beard thing really had to go. As for Justin - he had looked thouroghly uninterested the entire movie and I realized that it wasn't because he didn't like it but it was because, near the last fifteen minutes of the movie, he started crying. Seriously. His mom was crying but that was to be expected. She's a mom watching a sad movie. But, I can't help but laugh at Justin, which earns me a smack on the arm and a 'shut up'. "Let me guess - you aren't crying. It's your allergies." He frowns over at me and reaches over for a pillow to, most likely, smack me with before Jennifer stops him.

"I don't think so. Brian, could you please get me the tissues out of the bathroom down the hall?"

How can I say no?

I nod and hurry down the hall and into the bathroom, turn on the light and begin my search for the tissues. I open the cabinet under the bathroom sink and dig through and find the tissues. I also find a bottle of medicine prescribed to 'Jennifer Taylor' and, my curiosity getting the best of me, I see what they're for. Depression. I quickly put the bottle back where I found it and quickly escape the bathroom. I wonder if Justin knows that she's taking medicine for her depression. I wonder why she's taking the medicine in the first place. She had seemed perfectly fine tonight, maybe a little...disappointed that her husband hadn't showed up for dinner but other than that, she had been happy. Than again, what do I know?

As I'm making my way back down the hall I here the front door slam open.

When I round the corner my eyes land on a man. A man who doesn't look too friendly. His eyes are bloodshot, his hair is in dissray, and, to put it lightly, he doesn't look too good at the moment. Mr. Taylor also doesn't look anything like his father, which is a great thing. I stop, not really sure what to do since when he got site of me he sent me a look of pure dislike. He doesn't even know me and he already...hates me by the looks of it. He turns back to Jennifer and Justin who were now off the couch, Justin looking particuraly uncomfortable. Jennifer looked slightly hopeful, very slighty. The man held up his hand waving a white envolope in his hand. Justin of recognized it because, now, he looked completely horrified. And pissed.

"What the hell is this?"

"Who the hell is that?"

Yeah, it's safe to say he doesn't like me. I stand there kind of awkwardly with the box of tissues in my hands. Mr. Taylor soon dismisses me and turns all his attention on his wife and son, stepping closer to Justin with his clenched hand still wrapped around the envelope. Justin swallows, I can practically hear his gulp all the way over here and reaches out to take the letter out of his father's hand, which the man, of course, doesn't allow. He pulls the letter back to hold it out of reach. Justin sighs, looking more and more troubled by the second. "That's Brian. He's a friend from school." His mom quickly jumps in, worried expression on her face.

"They were working on a project together. He's spending the night. Actually, they were just about to go to bed."

It's obviously a hint for Justin and I to exit. And I'm all for it 'cause this guy doesn't look too friendly at the moment but, it looks like Justin has entirely different plans.

"Why the hell do you have my mail?"

The man, I think, at one point, Justin had mentioned that his name was Craig or something, looked down at the envelope and slowly began opening it, look of pure disgust and disbelief on his face. "It's a good thing I do have your mail. I don't know what you were thinking - applying here. At some...fag institute." Justin steps foward, even manages to grab a hold of the paper that Craig pulls out of the envelope but Craig manages to get it out of his grip, unfolding it and reading it, looking more and more disgusted as the seconds ticked by. Shit - what am I supposed to do. Am I supposed to be witnessing all of this?

I guess it's no different at my house, though.

Except I would have a broken nose by now.

"Give me the fucking-"

"Don't talk to me like that. No respect at all."

He looks back at the letter, "Justin Taylor - we are pleased to accept you into Pittsburgh's Institute of Fine Arts..." He stops reading for a moment, shaking his head and rubbing his temple with his thumb and index finger and then he looks back down at the text. "We've discussed this time and time again, Justin. You're going to Dartmouth. You're going to take over the business. You're going to become sucessful. You're not going to become some poor, worthless, faerie tramping around painting pretty pictures." Justin looks closed to tears and, if I had to guess, they're probably tears of anger more than sadness. And he also looks about to swing a punch at the man. Jennifer hasn't said anything but she's watching in tears. This must be why she takes pills. Hell, I can't believe Justin's not taking medicine. At least, I hope he's not.

"Give it to me."

He sounds desperate now. Jennifer steps foward, finally. "Craig, we'll talk about this later. Just give it to him. Please." She sounds even more desperate. If I was Justin I would have hurt somebody by now. Craig takes the letter, folds it neatly, and stuffs it in the pocket of his pants. "There's no point in giving it to him, Jennifer. He's not going." He looks back at me and looks as if he's just noticed me for the first time. "Who is this again? Is it one of your homo friends?" I hold back the urge to snap at him, say something that I know I'll probably regret later because it'll probably get Justin in trouble. I look over at Justin who looks ready to explode, the wetness in his eyes as obvious as obvious can get. I swallow down harsh words and try to unclench my hand around the tissue box.

"His name's Brian. Justin's friend. They're going to bed."

"Together?"

Justin's beyond furious now. "Fuck you." I'm glad someone finally said it. Before I have time to even think about the horrified look on Craig's face, Justin is grabbing my wrist and he's dragging me down the hall, up the stairs and into his bedroom and locking the door. I stand there in the middle of his floor watching him through the dim lighting that only the moon is providing at the moment. "I-I'm sorry about that." He moves past me, doesn't even look at me as if he's ashamed about something but I don't know what it could be, and he sits down on the edge of his bed, face in the palms of his hands. I sit down next to him, box of tissues in my lap. "You don't have anything to be sorry about. He's just an asshole."

"I didn't want you to see."

"See what?"

That he doesn't have a perfect life? Big deal.

"Me cry."

Before I can reply, "You probably think I'm a huge baby right now." I slide my arm across his shoulders and pull him closer to me, his head resting just below my chin and his hands clinging onto my shirt and I have a feeling that he's finally letting out his tears. I can feel the wetness on my shirt reaching my skin. "I think you're a baby all the time, Sunshine. You're so immature." He chuckles slightly, pulling his face away from my body and quickly using the back of his hand to wipe the tears off of his face. He looks back over at me with a slightly sad expression on his face. "I don't want to go to Dartmouth."

"You don't have to."

"My fath-"

"Can't control your life."

He stays silent and I gently grab his neck and make him look at me.

"Are you alright?"

"I guess...yeah...right now."

I lean over and kiss him, gently parting his lips with my tongue. Things quickly become heated, his body underneath mine, legs wrapped around my waist and his hands around me and gripping tightly onto the back of my shirt. I move slowly, slower than I'm used to moving with hot men, because of the emotional state he's in. I don't want either of us to feel like I'm taking advantage of that by going in and out in as quickly as possible. Plus, I want to make every second of this last and seem longer than a second. Plus, he's not some random guy I met on the street. He's my best-friend, we know each other on a personal level already and I don't have the need, or even the want, to treat him like some random trick. I don't want to ruin anything.

My hand wraps around his clothed cock earning me a moan of satisfaction. I remove my hand while my other hand teases his nipples underneath his shirt. I take my other hand and slide the button of his pants out of the hole and he tells me the dreaded words to stop. It's just a gaspy whimper against my lips. I remove my hand and pull my mouth from his and stare down at him questioningly. He looks completely edible - lips swollen and shiny from our saliva, breathless, cheeks pink and just...yeah, edible. "What?" I expect him to say something like, 'should we really do this since my parents are home' or 'are you sure you want to screw me' but never,

"I-I can't. I'm not ready."