A/N: Not feeling too good today, so I only wrote half of what I planned. I'll probably do another update for tomorrow.

Brian walked into what appeared to be pandemonium. He looked down at his phone: 8:05 pm. Hmmm. He lifted his head once more and even closed his tight before opening them again. Nope. Still chaos.

Justin, Daphne, and a handful of others (let's call them, Boy 1 and 2 and Girl 1, 2, and 3) rushed around Brian's loft, engaged in a wide variety of activities.

Daphne and Girl 1 were setting, one by one, myriad colors of nail polish on a card table. The table held not only a rainbow of nail polish but also little bowls, lotion, nail polish remover, cuticle cutters, and even a miniature fan. Apparently they were assembling a manicure station.

Boy 1 and Girl 2 were flitting around yet another card table, laying out warmers, tubs of wax, wooden sticks, and strips of cloth, and spray bottles of wax remover, ostensibly for hair removal.

Justin and Boy 2 were looking through boxes of clothes, selecting some items (and hanging those up on freestanding racks like the ones fashion designers use) and rejecting others. Brian glimpsed satin, silk, leather, and even sequins (among other fabrics).

Finally Girl 3 was placing makeup on a third card table: eyeliner, mascara, eye shadow, glitter, concealer, bronzer, blush, lip gloss, and even face paint (along with numerous brushes, blenders, and whatnot).

Brian remained standing in front of the open door (so astounded, he hadn't even shut it). Cynthia brushed past him then, her and another boy (Boy 3), carrying boxes of Flash vodka and mixers.

Still others (Girl 4 and Boy 4) filed in carrying brightly colored bean bags and rectangular cotton stuffed chairs. Once Girl 4 and Boy 4 had positioned the chairs, they walked over to yet another table, on which sat two turntables, speakers, a portable mixing board, and a box full of albums.

Once Boy 3 had finished helping Cynthia unpack bottles, he started assembling various lighting fixtures.

Brian set his briefcase down and glanced over at Cynthia. She walked, briskly, to his side and smiled. "Isn't this amazing!"

Brian barely managed a "How?" He had expected much less.

Cynthia shook her head. "It was all Justin. These are all his classmates."

She pointed to Girls 1 and 3, who were setting up the manicuring and makeup tables. "They're painters."

She pointed to Girl 2, who was setting up the waxing table. "She's a sculptor."

She pointed to Boy 2, who was helping Justin with the clothes. "He's a fashion designer."

She pointed to Boy 3, who was setting up the lighting fixtures. "He's an interior designer. He brought the lights and the chairs."

She pointed to Girl 4 and Boy 4, who were readying the DJ table. "They're musicians and amateur DJs. They actually do parties for extra cash."

Just then two more individuals filed in (Girl 5 and Boy 5) carrying all manner of photography equipment. Each had three cameras slung around their neck.

Cynthia smiled and pointed to the newest entrants. "And they, of course, are photographers."

"Huhn." Brian was BEYOND impressed. "Do I need to pay them?"

Cynthia grinned. "Nope. They're doing it as an investment in their future."

Brian quirked an eyebrow.

"They're all hoping that you'll use them for ad campaigns (this one or others). Obviously, money matters to them, but an opportunity to showcase their talent to the public and potential future employers matter more. That was all Justin's baby. He spun the idea of this as sort of a job interview."

"Huhn."

Cynthia laughed. "Even better, all of them, well except the fashion designer, are hetero."

"Should I do something …"

"Nope. Just make yourself sexy."

Brian shot her a flower-wilting glare. "MAKE myself sexy?"

Cynthia sighed. Deeply. "Change into clothes more appropriate for this environment."

Brian smiled. "Much better."

Cynthia returned to the kitchen island, which now served as a bar.

Brian loosened his tie and glanced back over at Justin. He was wearing a sleeveless ebony chainmail shirt with a yellow and black plaid button down (unbuttoned) over it, a pair of formfitting charcoal and light blue plaid pants, and combat boots. His hair was styled (a little spiky and up, up, up), and he was wearing eyeliner (not thick, not thin) and light blue and dark grey on his eyes (looked like face paint) … and black color on his nails. He looked … fucking incredible (Brian thought). And very fashionable.

Boy 2 (the fashion designer) had finished hanging up his pile of clothes and was talking to Justin. He started touching Justin then, moving him like he was a mannequin, lifting his chin with a finger and looking at Justin from all angles, pulling and tugging at his pants, his chain mail shirt, even his button down. Justin blushed and smiled. And Boy 2, he was smiling back. Smiling, smiling, smiling flirty smiles. And his eyes were twinkling. Now he was touching Justin's hair and talking, making Justin laugh. This displeased Brian. Beyond measure. He frowned and stomped off to the bedroom. Thankfully, the DJs had already started spinning, so no one heard.

Now alone, Brian started undressing, none too gently. He nearly sent buttons flying. Brian didn't understand what 'game' Justin was playing. Was he trying to show Brian that hot guys, young hot guys, young hot talented guys wanted him? That if Brian wanted to fuck other people, he, too, could fuck other people?

Brian glanced over at his clock. 8:25 pm. He had time for a shower. He turned it on (and added very little cold water) and stood directly under the shower head, so that water was running over his head and face. Brian wondered then. Had Justin already fucked the fashion designer? Was that why he felt he could so freely touch Justin, treating him like a doll or a model? Brian couldn't be pissed off if that were the case. He hadn't asked Justin to be his boyfriend. He had acknowledged that he was (by not contradicting Justin), but he hadn't asked. And they'd never discussed tricking. Brian just assumed Justin hadn't been fucking anyone but him, but if Justin had been, he couldn't be angry. He wasn't allowed because Justin had made no promises and Brian certainly had not asked him to make promises. And yet … Brian was … angry.

And … some other not pleasant emotions. Brian knew he had a better body than the fashion designer. But the fashion designer was young. Justin's age. And an artist. Brian was creative, absolutely, but not an artist. And Brian was fashionable, but maybe not as 'trendy' as the fashion designer. His taste wasn't exactly 'youthful.' He would never have chosen that outfit for Justin, but he had to admit Justin looked fucking hot in it. He was ashamed to admit, even to himself, and only in his head, that he'd probably look positively 'frumpy' and 'traditional' in comparison. He could just walk out nude. That WAS his best look. If only …

None of this would have bothered Brian to the degree that it did if Justin had bothered to look Brian's way. Even for a second. Even just once. Justin had acted as though Brian did not even exist. And THAT was intolerable.

Brian washed himself quickly and shut the water off. He'd had the temperature so high that his skin was pink. He grabbed a towel and started drying himself on the way to his wardrobe. He pulled the doors open and stared for a long moment before sighing and sitting on the bed. Tens of thousands of dollars' worth of clothes in his wardrobe and he had nothing to wear.

Justin would have laughed if he could read Brian's mind. Or cried. Similar thoughts had been plaguing him. Justin had worked so hard to make the party perfect, but when he'd sneaked furtive glances in Brian's direction, he couldn't tell if Brian liked the effort. Worse yet, Brian hadn't even taken a step toward Justin, let alone approached him.

Unfortunately, he had been trying so hard to play it cool that he had completely missed Brian's staring in awe at how Justin looked. He had also missed the jealousy burning in Brian's eyes as Justin spoke to his friend Seth. As the minutes ticked by with no communication from Brian, Justin found it more and more difficult to try to focus on Seth and to pretend to smile and laugh.

Even more, Justin had asked Seth, Denise (the friend manning the makeup table), and Shelly (the friend manning the manicure table) to help him look hip and fashionable … super sexy. And they had pulled out all the stops. But Justin wasn't used to wearing makeup or nail polish or having his hair styled or dressing like a model, so he felt uncomfortable. In fact, he was so nervous and on edge that he actually flushed pink. He definitely would have loved to know that Brian had misread that flush as desire for Seth, ultimately releasing the green-eyed monster from the cage in which Brian usually managed to keep him safely locked away.

Then, when Justin couldn't take the waiting anymore and had finally looked over at Brian, even pondering approaching HIM, he saw that Brian was gone. He had probably gone into his bedroom to change. He briefly contemplated asking Cynthia how Brian had reacted to the party preparations, but he knew she would tell Brian anything he said to her. Justin looked over at Brian's bedroom door, longing in his eyes. He could just go inside.

But … Brian had started pulling away again last night. Brian hadn't even fucked Justin. He'd sucked him off, but Justin felt that was more of a 'thank you' than anything else. It was a way for Brian to get Justin off without having to really connect. No kissing. No looking into Justin's eyes. No wrapping his arms around Justin. No losing control. No talking.

To make matters worse, Justin had no idea that Brian had fallen asleep holding him because when he had awoken, he had found himself lying on his side almost a foot away from Brian on the bed. He had no idea that he'd been tossing and turning and had rolled over all on his own. Rather, he had assumed that that's how Brian had laid him in the bed. That hurt more than the not fucking. Even before they'd started doing the deed, Brian had always held Justin while they slept.

Again, Justin would have laughed if he had known that Brian had been 'dwelling' like crazy, replaying events in his head on a loop trying to figure out why Justin had left early. He would have laughed or cried if he had known that his leaving early had hurt Brian. In truth, Justin had left because he didn't think he could stomach more of Brian's pulling away. He thought if he made the party amazing and looked hot and stylish that maybe Brian would act more like normal. In fact, he'd even begged off work to 'help Cynthia with the party' – he couldn't bear to be alone with Brian again until things normalized.

Even though Justin wanted nothing more than to kiss and touch Brian, to talk to him, to find out his reaction to all of this, he couldn't put himself forward like that. He didn't want Brian to push him away again. And he figured that trying to draw Brian back when he was pulling away would only drive him to pull away harder. No, Justin just had to wait. But he was far from the patient type, so the wait was excruciating.

Justin looked down at his watch. 8:45 p.m. He had to run downstairs and hang the posters announcing the party (so none of the potential models would get lost). He was grateful to have something to do, especially grateful that this task was actually outside the loft.

Justin stepped out the door just as Cynthia's phone rang. It was Brian's text tone. He had programmed in his own tones so that she'd know right away if her boss needed something. He'd used Beethoven's Fifth (the opening), so he could sound pissed off even when not standing directly in front of her. The text read, "Get your ass in here!" He had to mean the bedroom or bathroom … those were the only possible "in heres." Cynthia sighed and strode over to the bedroom. She knocked. He slid the door open and yanked her in before sliding it closed again.

Brian was, of course, nekkid. Cynthia might have laughed … might have if she hadn't seen this coming a mile away. Instead, she simply asked, "Boss?"

Brian waved his hands in the air and then at his wardrobe. He looked at her helplessly.

Cynthia cleared her face of all expression, trying hard to pretend that his penis was not bouncing around with every gesticulation. "Yes, Brian, those are clothes, which it appears you need."

Brian rolled his eyes. "I have nothing to wear." Then he widened his eyes and looked over at the wardrobe as if to confirm this fact.

Cynthia bit back a smile. "You dragged me in here for fashion advice?"

"Well …" Now Brian was gesturing helplessly at the door, Cynthia assumed, because of what lay beyond.

Cynthia shook her head. "They're just a bunch of kids, Brian. I mean, sure, fashionable artistic types, but just kids."

Brian glanced away.

Cynthia narrowed her eyes. Her voice was laughter forming words. "But of course, you couldn't give two shits what THEY think. You care about just ONE fashionable artistic type …"

Brian bit off his words and glared at her. "You say it, and I WILL fire you. And kill your cat."

"I have a dog."

"What-the-fuck-ever!"

Cynthia's eyes danced. "You saw Justin looking F-I-N-E fine, and now you're nervous about what to wear …" She started looking around urgently, fear in her eyes.

"What the fuck are you doing?"

"Looking out for the Horsemen. Pretty sure Brian-Fucking-Kinney's being nervous about a teenager's opinion of him is the final sign of the apocalypse."

Brian clenched his jaw. "Would you just fucking help me?"

Cynthia grinned. "You got it, Boss!"