A/N: I'm sorry I've been mostly MIA for the past couple of weeks. Work has been crazy (and I need the money—moving unexpectedly cost me my savings). I hope I've hit a good rhythm (so that I can better balance all my various responsibilities). Keep your fingers crossed. PS: Please leave feedback. I can't say enough how much I need it to stay motivated.

Justin stepped through the doors of the M train, plopped into the nearest seat, leaned forward, and buried his face in his hands. He tightened his jaw and squeezed his eyes shut tight, but stinging tears snuck out just the same. Justin sat up abruptly and cursed, in a sharp whisper, "Fuck." He blinked a few times and then ran a hand over his eyes.

A low voice asked, "Hey … you okay?"

Justin uncovered his eyes and turned toward the voice, which, as it turned out, issued forth from the mouth of a young Asian woman (in her very early twenties it looked like, with blond streaks in her hair). She had her arms slung around a large metal rectangular case. It was so large that she had set it between her legs – otherwise it would have been in the middle of the aisle. She tilted her head expectantly (Justin, his expression all incredulity, just gaped). Finally, he managed, "What?"

The young woman laughed. "Are – you – okay?" She repeated, punctuating each word with a pause and speaking more slowly.

Justin wrinkled his nose and shot her a mildly disdainful look. "I'm not giving you any money."

She scoffed. "What the fuck? Did I ask you for any?"

Justin shrugged. "Not yet. Just saying. You're a busker, right?"

"Huh?"

"A street musician."

"What the fuck ever asshole. I just played Carnegie Hall last night."

"Oh." Justin had the courtesy to look embarrassed.

"I should have stayed in Baltimore. You New Yorkers are all assholes. I see someone crying. I try to be a decent human being, so of course you assume there's something wrong with me. Well, I think there's something wrong with YOU. I suppose if I were crying you'd just put ear buds in and look out the window."

Justin stared at her blankly for a long moment. Then he burst out laughing. And nodded. "Actually … yeah. That's exactly what I'd do."

"Are you completely insensitive to how FUCKED that is?"

Justin shrugged.

"So are you gonna tell me?"

"Tell you …?"

"What's wrong."

"Oh. You really want to know?"

She rolled her eyes. "Uh … yeah. Why else would I have asked? God, you're not too bright are you?"

"Hey! Jaded maybe. Stupid …" Justin paused for a second to ponder this. Then he sighed. "Yeah, okay, I can be pretty stupid."

She nodded slowly and smiled. "What did you do?"

"Huh?"

"We really need to expedite this. I get off in 7 stops. I'm guessing you did something you regret. What was it?"

"Oh." Justin sighed deeply. "I tried to make my boyfriend jealous, and he just took off." His face grew hot at the memory.

"Why?"

"I don't know. Because he's an asshole?"

"No, why did you try to make him jealous?"

"Oh. Uh … It's complicated."

"Simplify it for me."

"Uh …" Justin breathed out slowly and frowned. "I blew him off for a school project. He then proceeded to go clubbing and was flirting with this guy. In fact, he nearly cheated on me with the guy. After brushing him off, he saw me. I bought him a drink, and I wanted to make up, but I couldn't just say I was sorry so …"

She interjected, "Why not?"

"He doesn't like talking about feelings. I thought I could get him to engage if he saw me dancing with other guys. Get him feeling competitive or whatever. I don't know. It backfired. He took off, and now I have to figure out a way to see him."

"Can't you just go to his apartment?"

"I wish it were that simple. I need an excuse. A reason."

"You have one. You need to say you're sorry. Well double sorry, since you just made it worse."

"No, no. I need a non-relationship related reason. Something to do with work, maybe."

"Why?"

"I don't want him to think …"

"What? That you want to see him?"

"Well … I mean … no. I don't want him to think I'm weak. To think I like him so much I can't stay away from him even after he acted like a jerk."

"Ah. What does it mean to be weak?"

"What? Like the definition?"

"Your definition."

"Oh. Needy. Clingy."

"You mean … like a woman? Or like women are perceived to be?"

"What? I … I didn't say that."

"You didn't have to. Tell me this. Who is weaker? A person who lies and does a whole bunch of stuff he doesn't want to do because he's scared that another guy will look down on him? Or a person who says what's true even when telling the truth has consequences? A person who knows what he wants and how he feels and owns that? A person who'd rather be who he truly is than be with a guy who can't appreciate that true self?"

"…"

"Aren't you being needier, clingier, by lying about what you want and who you are? I mean, if you're willing to change what you do and what you say to keep a guy … sorry, dude, but that's PATHETIC."

Justin's cheeks burned. He opened his mouth to offer a retort, but then just sat there, mouth open, staring in the direction of but not actually at a SEAMLESS advertisement "Where a hot single in your area refers to a slice of pizza." When he finally spoke, he confessed, "You're right. I've been so paranoid about losing Brian, about his liking me less – wanting me less, that I've started analyzing everything I do, trying to make myself more appealing … you know … less available, less emotional, less like I give a shit."

"And how's that been working out for ya?"

Justin huffed a laugh. "Not well."

"What made him want you in the first place?"

"I … I'm not sure."

"Oh crap. This is me." The young woman slid her arms through straps attached to her metal case, hefting it onto her back with a grunt. As she headed out the door, she offered, "Figure out why he initially wanted you. Then do that some more."

Justin furrowed his brow, contemplating. Just then, a short pudgy man in coveralls (literal coveralls) and a Carhartt jacket spouted out (ostensibly for the benefit of two nearby Hispanic gentlemen, who were quietly conversing in Spanish, "The Constitution is written in English. It only gives rights to people who speak English. Why do you think everyone in China is learning?" He didn't wait three seconds for an answer before supplying it himself. "Because the Chinese want to rule the world." Justin (and several other people in their car) turned away from the shouter, pulled his iPod out of his pocket, slipped his earbuds in, and pressed play. Indifference really was the way to go most of the time.

Adam Levine crooned, "So scared of breaking it but you won't let it bend. And I wrote two hundred letters I will never send. Sometimes these cuts are so much deeper than they seem. You'd rather cover up. I'd rather let them bleed. So let me be. I'll set you free. I am in misery. There ain't nobody who can comfort me. Why won't you answer me? You're silence is slowly killing me. Girl you really got me bad. You really got me bad. I'm gonna get you back. I'm gonna get you back. Your salty skin and how it mixes in with mine. The way it feels to be completely intertwined. Not that I didn't care. It's that I didn't know. It's not what I didn't feel. It's what I didn't show."

Suddenly it hit Justin.

The missed connection ad.

That's what got Brian's attention. Daphne (as Justin) had laid it all on the line (she'd shared Justin's observation that Brian'd had the 'face of God' and listed Justin's 'features' such as they were). Then Justin had laid everything on the line … he'd told Brian about … well … as it turned out, he'd told Brian about Brian (his mystery man) at the art show and then about the bashing (while they were at the loft). Brian could have (should have) brushed Justin off at that point (lots of talking and zero sex), but he'd called later that second day asking Justin to dinner. Justin sighed. When had he gotten to be such a chicken shit? Right. When Brian decided that he wanted to try being boyfriends, when Justin realized that Brian was test driving him. Justin wanted so much to pass inspection that he was slowly, or not so slowly, becoming a different person.

That's when the M pulled into the Myrtle-Wyckoff station. As the doors opened, Justin glimpsed a Manhattan-bound M just starting to pull in on the other side. On a crazy whim, Justin barreled out the door and down two flights of stairs (and then back up two flights), skidding to a halt next to the door nearest the end of the train, just as it was closing. Justin pivoted and pushed through the shrinking gap (actually yelping a bit when the door snapped shut on him). Justin grunted and pushed against the right side. The door popped back open. Justin stepped inside and swiveled around (holding onto the center pole near the door) and looked out the clear panel in the door. He was a little embarrassed by the yelping.

Justin had identified what he'd done to get Brian to like him. Now he had 17 stops and one transfer to figure out how he was going to "do it some more."

Meanwhile, Brian was back at the loft, sitting at his computer, scrolling through m4m mm4m and m4mm craigslist ads. He wasn't planning to respond to any of them. He had made a promise after all. "Fucking promises," he thought. He clenched his jaw and flicked a stapler off the desk. It tumbled and crashed to the floor. Brian grunted. That hadn't helped at all. Then he actually muttered out loud, "Fucking Christ" and sighed. He shouldn't be sitting at home on a Friday night looking at dic pics and body stats to take the 'edge' off.

A thought popped into his head, but just for a moment before Brian sent it packing back into the ether: He could be balls deep in a hot blond … well he could have been … if he hadn't stomped off like a petulant child.

Brian clicked open a new tab. Time for voyeur central (that's what Brian called it anyway). He clicked on a former favorite. Brian wasn't exactly proud of having a favorite at all … but no one knew, so it was almost like it wasn't true. Before Justin, Brian would sometimes head over to this particular web cam site, surf until he found something 'interesting,' and jerk off … and occasionally … fuck himself with one of his many dildos. It sufficed and saved him the hours required to get ready, go out, and 'hunt.' In fact, sometimes these 'sessions' were more pleasurable than the quick fucks in whatever back room he found himself.

Brian smiled. Good to see some things never change. A slight red-haired boy (he looked about 18) was wearing a leather thong and wielding a heavy flogger. His two slaves quivered in anticipation – both were a lot older. One was a muscle head. Brian opened the bottom drawer of his desk and pulled out a vibrating butt plug and a cock ring (well and lube). Brian smirked. This was going to be one of the better ones.