Brian and Justin headed to the loft door. Once they'd reached it, Justin said as calmly as he could, "Give me the keys."

Brian's eyes widened. In fact, he was openly gaping. His response came out involuntarily. A grunt. "What?"

Justin wasn't sure he wanted to do this. He felt a painful tingle in his neck that spread all the way up to his ears, but he persisted. As evenly as he could manage, he replied, "I'm going to meet you inside the Jeep. Give me ten minutes. Then follow."

Brian swallowed hard and licked his lips. Everything in him pushed him to refuse. Brian wanted Justin to fight back, against the social anxiety and against Daphne and her husband, but Justin was trying too hard too quickly. His panic attacks were coming with greater frequency and greater intensity these days. Brian would have to be an idiot to not understand why. To not see the link between them and Justin's efforts to get better … between them and the increasing external pressures. BUT he couldn't do anything. He just couldn't. Brian had to let Justin do what he needed to do. Anything less would be like telling Justin that he was incapable, like he wasn't strong enough. Brian was NOT about to do that. Instead, He looked just above Justin, focusing on the humidor on a bookcase set in the far right corner. A seemingly stray thought, but one Brian had to use all his brainpower to call forth, passed through his mind then. He really needed to rub the humidor down with linseed oil. That irrelevance was enough to allow Brian to center himself. When he looked back down at Justin, he was collected.

So Brian handed Justin the keys and held the door open. He even smiled, but his face was tight.

Justin smiled back, but, try as he might to telegraph ease and confidence, the smile didn't reach his eyes. Justin would be okay until he reached the door downstairs, and the parking lot was twenty feet away. But Justin had no idea how far into the parking lot the Jeep was. Could be another twenty or thirty feet. The last time he had done this (that time to return to his old apartment) had been quite some time ago, and he'd been highly motivated (he had been terrified that the police would arrest Brian for assault, again).

As Justin headed into the hall, it occurred to him that he could just ask Brian to come with him or tell Brian that it was too soon, that he wasn't ready, and go back inside the loft, make some coffee, sit at the desk, and type away at his laptop. He snuck a glance back at Brian. Brian was staring at him. Justin wasn't sure but he thought he saw a touch of hope in Brian's eyes. Justin turned his head back toward the elevator and walked more purposely toward it. He understood then that he would never feel ready. He just had to force himself out of his comfort zone and stave off panic attacks as best he could with all the CBT techniques he had been learning. That would get him to the Jeep. For more sustained social contact, Justin would need to build a persona like Brian had suggested. Justin reached out to press the call button. His hand quaked. Justin pressed the button and then started balling and unballing both of his hands, squeezing his hand into a tight, tight fist and then stretching his fingers out all the way. His hands stopped shaking.

During the ride down and the walk to the outer door, Justin let his imagination carry him away, allowed himself to visualize what might come, if he were only strong enough. He imagined that Debbie lived in an old Victorian house. He could almost hear the squeak of the floorboards as Brian, Justin, and Kayla stood on the porch, Justin holding Kayla, her laying her head on Justin's shoulder, and Justin's rocking her slowly and rubbing her back, waiting for Debbie to open the door. But Debbie wouldn't open the door. That honor would fall to a laughing Gus, eager to meet the newest member of their circle. He could almost smell the pot roast, complete with baked potatoes and carrots. When Justin reached the outer door and pulled it open, he had the sound of children's laughter ringing in his ears, Gus's and Kayla's.

He successfully pulled the door open but balked at the threshold, as though there were an invisible force field separating inside from outside. He froze. Laughter still ringing in his ears, he imagined setting Kayla down, feeling Brian's strong hands slide around his waist, pulling him close. He stepped out the door. Justin fought back a wave of dizziness that hit the moment his feet touched pavement. He kept on walking. The parking lot was 20 feet away. He'd figured this out before. Just 26 steps. Justin tried to count. One. Two. Three.

Justin felt so exposed. The sunshine did nothing to allay his fear. He could hear everything. The rustling in a nearby bush. The crunch of gravel behind him and to the left. His heart was pounding so fast. He glanced back nervously. It was a man wearing jeans and a red hoody. The second his glance lighted on the man, he felt like someone had hit him in the solar plexus. He ran to the edge of the building and threw himself back against the wall. He closed his eyes and tried to regulate his breathing. He started humming "Always on My Mind" by the Pet Shop Boys. He remembered Brian holding him tight against him as they danced, just a few hours ago. He could almost feel Brian's breath, warm against his neck. His body started to relax. His heart beat slowed. Justin opened his eyes and peaked around the corner. The man in the hoody was still standing out front.

Justin closed his eyes and muttered, "Fuck. Fuck. Fuck." If he walked toward the Jeep, he'd be completely exposed. An attack only took a few seconds. Justin would never see it coming. He heard the thunk of the bat. His stomach roiled with nausea, and he started salivating. There was a bad taste in his mouth. The tell-tale signs that he was about to puke. Justin swallowed hard and squeezed his hand, the hand holding the keys tighter. The metal dug into his skin. Justin took a deep breath. Fuck it.

He took one more peek around the corner of the building. The man was just standing there. What was he doing? He had his hands in his pockets and was looking at the ground, kicking one sneakered foot against the other. Justin turned back toward the parking lot. It was empty of all but the Jeep and a black sedan. No one else was around. He closed his eyes for a second and took a deep breath. Then he stepped forward, away from the safety of the building.

Justin tried to walk calmly, to look forward rather than looking around nervously, but he felt so exposed. Red hoody guy could attack him at any moment. His heart was pounding so hard in his chest he could barely hear anything. Just the quick thump-thump-thump of his heart and the rushing of blood in his ears. He kept moving, tried to kick out his knees to lengthen his strides (his gym teacher had taught him that one spring when they were learning sprinting). Just a few feet left. Justin forced himself to breathe, big chest filling breaths, in and out.

When he finally reached the passenger side door, his hands were shaking so badly that he dropped the keys. In fact, his entire body was trembling. He squatted to grab the keys and took that opportunity to turn and look back. The man in the red hoody was walking toward him. A wave of heat washed through Justin then, quickly followed by a freezing cold shiver. Justin's vision swam. He couldn't lose his shit now. He forced himself to stand.

Justin held onto the Jeep with one hand (to keep himself standing) while he tried to slide the key in the lock with the other. His eyes never left the man. The man had not entered the parking lot. He was going around it on the sidewalk. He was walking slowly, purposely, looking directly in front of him. So focused was Justin on the man that it took him three tries to slide the key in the lock and turn the key. When he finally got the door unlocked, he yanked it open so hard he nearly fell. After righting himself, he jumped into the seat and slammed and locked the door. Then he buried his head in his hands and started sobbing. The stress of the last few minutes was so acute that the tears were a welcome release. He cried so hard his body shook. Justin let himself cry for a full minute before sitting up and blinking and breathing until his eyes were dry. Until his breathing was regular. Then he forced himself to glance over toward the other side of the parking lot. The red hoody man was now crossing the street. The man looked back. He looked right at the Jeep. HE LOOKED RIGHT AT JUSTIN. Justin held his eyes for a long moment.

Bang, bang, bang.

Justin literally jumped, his eyes wide. He looked over toward the origin of the sound. It was Brian. Justin breathed a sigh of relief, smiled, leaned over, and unlocked the driver's side door. While Brian climbed inside and took the keys from Justin's hand (he actually had to pry them out), Justin looked back across the street. He was suddenly frantic. The red hoody man had disappeared. There were no buildings, just a street and a park. Justin should still be able to see him.

Brian shook his head. His voice held amusement. "And here I thought you were a keeper."

Justin whipped his head to the side, toward Brian. "What?"

"A keeper would have unlocked the door before I got here."

Justin flushed. "Oh." Then he laughed softly. "Does that mean you're gonna curb my sorry ass?"

Brian slid the key into the ignition and turned it. The Jeep roared to life. He nodded slowly and narrowed his eyes, as though he were thinking. "Might have to …"

Justin smiled more brightly. Through giggles, he said, "Well, I got out the door … I have a perfectly rounded ass, plump lips, and a ginormous cock …" Justin raised his voice on "ginormous" and spread his hands expansively. "You dump me, ten minutes later, I got a hot new boyfriend … and young, too. Someone from MY generation …" Justin tilted his head and even winked.

Brian didn't blink for a full thirty seconds. He just stared at Justin. He shifted in his seat (his jeans had suddenly gotten tighter). Then he drawled, but with a dark, intense look in his eyes, "Damn straight."

Justin shivered again, but this time a good shiver, warm and tickly. That only intensified when Brian reached over and slowly started sliding his hand up and down Justin's thigh. Justin flushed. But he was distracted. His mind turned back to the man in the red hoody. Should he tell Brian? Justin suffered from PTSD and social anxiety. But what was it that Nixon had said? Just because you're paranoid doesn't mean people AREN'T out to get you.