Matt woke with his alarm clock for the rest of the week -thankfully- but lay for a few minutes more on Friday morning, staring at the ceiling and ignoring the insistent beeping. Another day of work. He wondered what adventures would befall him today- would a shelf topple and crush him? Would his bus run him over? Matt just hoped he didn't have to take his shirt off again, like he did Sunday. The rest of the week just hadn't been the same. He swore Al had been stealing glances all week- when the other bent over, or brushed hair from his face...but it was playing games with Matt's mind. Was Al gay? Was Matt imagining things?

He slapped the alarm clock with a grunt and flopped back into bed. He could afford a few minutes. It was Friday, after all. The blond squeezed his eyes shut and remembered the way Al's charcoal-lined eyes had followed his bared chest as he had pulled off his shirt. Matt could only imagine a switch in positions; his boss pulling off his sopping wet shirt as the other peeked guiltily. The tattoos- did they extend all the way to his chest? His stomach? To his hips?

With a cursory look at his alarm clock, Matt slipped his hand down his boxers and obliged his rapidly progressing fantasies, letting out a shaky breath. He threw off the covers, as they quickly became too hot. Sure, this sort of thinking was unhealthy, but it was a way to let out Matt's pent up frustration. He rubbed harder, hand pumping up and down, as he imagined Al's husky voice in his ear, saying his name-

"Matt! Hey, doll face!"

Matt practically fell out of bed, heart thumping at the speed of sound as he scrambled to the window. He swore he hadn't imagined the yell, and- sure enough -a familiar auburn brunet, accompanied by his motorcycle, was waving from the street. Matt was careful not to let the lower half of his body show as he leant out the window.

"It's six forty-five! What're you doing here?" Matt accused.

"Gosh, you're red, darlin'," Al grinned wryly. Matt growled and tried to control the blush and the erection. The other continued, shouting: "Did I surprise you? I was runnin' errands! Do you want a ride to work?"

"Uh, I'm not..." Matt glanced down at himself. 'Ready' was the word he was looking for, but 'in control' seemed to want to come out of his mouth.

"Right, right." Al waved his hand, but added: "I can wait, doll, it's all kosher."

"Oh." Except the other really didn't want him to do that. Who knows if the fantasies would come back when he was pressed flush to Al's leather jacket?

"Can I come in?" Al shifted his weight, sticking his hands in the pockets of said leather jacket.

"Yeah, sure. It's, uh, 253. My apartment."

"I'll be up in a flash." He smiled again and flicked out Beatrice's kickstand, resting her on the sidewalk. As soon as he was out of sight and in the front door, Matt sighed- partly in relief of his disappearing boner and partly in exasperation. His apartment was a pigsty. He hoped Al wouldn't mind. He unlocked his front door and hopped into the shower (although he locked the bathroom door and made sure he had a fresh change; there was no need for the vegan to see more of him than he already had). He attempted to relax the butterflies in the burning hot spray as he was careful to shave the stubble from his chin and neck and tried not to think about Al out there in his apartment. Maybe what the other said when they first met was a warning; what if he really was a serial killer?

Eventually Matt finished his shower, put on his pants and shirt, and wandered out as he toweled his hair dry. But, as he sat on his bed to pull on his socks, he realised that the covers were straightened out and tucked nicely. Matt shoved the towel from his face and looked around incredulously; the dirty clothes were in their hamper, and the clean ones put away and the drawers closed. As Matt peeked into the kitchen, he discovered Al at the sink and scrubbing dishes.

"What-?" he began, standing to survey his boss' work. Al stuck his tongue between his teeth as he attacked a particularly stubborn spot.

"Hey, darlin'," he mumbled, resentfully putting down the dish and looking at Matt. "Hope you, ah, don't mind. I got a little antsy. So I-"

"Cleaned?" Matt finished, jaw slack. "There's a perfectly functioning T.V. right there."

"I don't watch T.V.," Al replied. He shook the water from his hands and shrugged. "It's way too brain rotting."

Matt didn't say anything for a long while, still in shock. Who /was/ this guy?

"Well," said Matt slowly, dragging the word out into multiple syllables, "I'll go put my boots on and then we'll...leave."

"Yeah, alright." Al smiled.

A serial killer, no. But a clean freak? Matt glanced behind him to see Al scrubbing the dish's stain again. Now, a clean freak was almost as scary.

"Happy Friday," Al began as they climbed onto his bike and Matt followed. He wrapped his arms around the other's waist and didn't reply as the motor was started, still a little shocked over Al's obsessive-compulsive secret.

"You know, you could put your hands on my shoulders," Al mused as Beatrice roared to life.

"I could also fall off that way," Matt growled, though he loosened his grip slightly.

The other chuckled, saying nothing else, and the two of them rode in silence for awhile. Matt could smell Al's cologne mingling with the motor grease and leather of his jacket as the wind blew it towards him.

"So, Matt, I know you have tomorrow off..."

"Mmhm?" the Canadian prompted.

"But are you doing anything tonight?"

Matt blinked. "Why?"

"Well, sometimes the guys and I go to this bar down the way, and-"

"What guys?"

"Well, I go to this bar by myself sometimes," Al corrected with a little laugh. "And I was wondering if you might come with me tonight?"

"Oh, uh..."

There was a sudden silence as Beatrice came to a stop in the parking lot of their workplace. They had swung their legs around and gotten off before Matt said:

"Sure, I guess. Why not?"

"That's the spirit." Al flashed a grin at him, sauntering forwards and unlocking the large glass front door that separated them from the already bustling inside of the store. Matt almost bumped into little Artie as he sped past, blue eyes staring at the ground.

"Wow, a lot of people here already."

"That's because we're the ones who're late."

Matt checked his watch. 8:32. A wave of guiltiness washed over him, and he looked up at the other regretfully.

"Oh, Al, I'm really sorry-"

Al winked at him, straightening the pin on his t-shirt that read 'Manager'. "The boss'll forgive us."

Matt immersed himself in his work thoroughly for the rest of the day; so much so, he had forgotten about his bar date until he was cleaning a window in the evening light and the auburn brunet appeared behind him. Al must've thought that Matt couldn't see him (which he could, very plainly, in the reflection of the very glass he was cleaning) because he stayed silent for a moment and looked out of the Windex-ed pane.

"Good job," Al said finally.

"Thanks." Matt rubbed a final smudge clean before turning around to face his smiling boss. God, he was handsome. Al jangled his ring of keys at the other.

"Almost time to lock up, then we can set off. To the bar," he added at the puzzled glint in Matt's eye.

"Oh! Right." He pulled his apron over his head and ran through the actions of shutting off and locking up the building. He nodded at the sulking butcher, Lutz, and again at a handsome cashier named Luciano. He dodged around Oliver. All the while, Matt thought about whether this whole bar thing was really a good idea. Were they to go as friends? As lovers? As an odd mixture of both? Would it ruin their business relationship? What sounds did Al make during sex?

The last thought came at him so fast that he had to pause in his stride and physically shake it from his head, partially wrecking his ponytail as well. While he had been pacing about and turning off the lights, the remaining employees had left. Al was waiting for him, sitting on a checkout counter and wearing his leather jacket.

"Do you wanna stop by your apartment first, darlin'?" he purred.

Matt glanced down at his worn down plaid and his ratty boots.

"Yeah," he shrugged. "That'd be nice."

The two of them rode home, and luckily Al making no move to follow him upstairs. Matt didn't think he could keep sane with more of the other's obsessive cleaning.

When the Canadian reached his apartment, he flicked on the lights and walked to his bedroom. He threw open his chest drawers, adrenaline pumping. What would he wear? Maybe one of those dress shirts he wore to his grandmother's funeral. Wait, how long ago was that? 5 years? Oh well, we was sure he still had the shirt somewhere.

As he was pacing around, he noticed his little flip phone sitting forlornly on his bedside table. Well, it wasn't that he had noticed. It was more the red message light blinking on it. So, he sat on the edge of his bed and idly opened his phone.

"5 new voicemails," Matt read aloud, eyebrows rising. He glanced at the window, where he could faintly hear Beatrice humming outside. Al would have to wait.

BEEP. "Hey, Matt! It's Matthew. Can you call me as soon as you can? Thanks!"

Matt made a face. His younger cousin Matthew was cute, and Matt had a connection to him since they had such similar names, but he could be kind of clingy sometimes. But the strawberry blond decided to humor him and kept the phone to his ear, listening to the quiet, high-pitched voice.

BEEP. "Matthew again! I know you're busy, but this is kind of important, and you really need to call me."

BEEP. "Matt, seriously. It's about your dad. You need to call me."

Matt froze, breath catching in his throat. His dad? What could sweet little Matthew have to say about the man who made his life a living hell for eighteen years?

BEEP. "Matthieu, I'm not kidding. Your dad is in the hospital."

BEEP. "Okay. Fine. I guess I'm stuck explaining it to you over voicemail. Matt, he has lung cancer. From all the smoking? He's really weak. You need to come home, soon. I know you didn't really like him, but he wants to see you. He says-"

The machine blared a final, indignant beep, cutting off his cousin in the middle of his message. Matt ripped the phone from his face and began rapidly dialing. Matthew picked up on the second ring.

"Matt! Finally, I was beginning to think the Americans had kidnapped you."

"Ouias, I'm sorry," he babbled, voice too high for his normal deep grumbling. "Is Papa okay?"

Matthew sighed. "Well, he hasn't gotten much better. You'll need to come home."

Matt pulled one of his knees up to his chest and stared at the wall.

"Matthew?"

"What?"

"Does he really want to see me?"

The line crackled silently for a moment before the younger continued softly: "Of course he does. You're his only son, and he messed up. You have no idea how guilty he feels."

"Guilty?"

"He's changed, Matt. He really has."

While Matthew had been talking, Matt hadn't noticed that Beatrice's motor had stopped purring. But he sure noticed now, as Al peered in his door, calling his name worriedly.

"Matt? Is everything alright, doll? I've been down there for almost half an hour..."

Al's voice faltered as he saw Matt stand from his bed, a phone to his ear and tears in his eyes. Though he was staring at Al, Matt spoke to his cousin with as much determination as he could muster.

"Tell Papa I'm on my way."