Still alive.  Still kicking.  I've been on autopilot for the last 22 hours.  It's busy as hell in the diner today, and I try not to think about how fucking tired I am, and how I still have an extremely long day ahead of me.   I'm running on fumes, and what keeps me going is the pure, hard, determination of finally getting my own place and all the benefits that go along with it.  I'm totally dedicated to being motivated right now.  Daphne's ex-roommate and her boyfriend have been hanging around the apartment a lot lately, and it's not that I don't like them, it's just hard to get any studying  or projects done with them around all the time.  Plus, it's just really unsettling to see straight couples sucking face!

I'm not sure I've ever hated working at the diner as much as I do right now, and as I'm going about my tedious duties, my mind starts to wander, scanning for other possible jobs that might bring in more money for me.  Jobs that are less stressful, less rushed, and don't make me smell like fried food.   Jobs that don't have men slipping their phone numbers into my pockets or grabbing at my ass all day.

As I'm clearing a table for waiting customers, a familiar voice behind me slightly startles me out of my thoughts. 

"Um, Justin... hey." 

Just the sound of his voice causes my body to go stiff -- and not in a good way.  God, could this day get any worse?  I don't bother to turn around.  Maybe if I ignore him he'll go away.

"So, what, do I have to call you 'bus boy' to get your attention now?"

Or maybe not.

I close my eyes and take a cleansing breath, but still don't turn around.  Just keep your cool, Justin. "What do you want, Michael," I say, complete disinterest apparent in my tone.

"I was actually hoping we could talk for a minute."

I finally turn around, and look at him suspiciously.  For months, Michael and I have been avoiding each other like the plague whenever possible, and I really can't imagine what in the hell we have to talk about. 

"What for?"

"It's... about Rage."  He seems a little nervous, and it's apparent he's still just as unenthusiastic to be near me, as I am him.  I'm guessing he probably changed his mind about twenty times before finally deciding to come and talk to me about this.   About Rage.  Wait... Rage?  What the fuck?

"What about it?" I frown.

"All right, I'll just get to the point.  I'm having... financial issues, and... well, you know, I was thinking about how much money we made from that first issue of Rage, and I was sort of hoping that --"

"Forget it," I cut him off, shaking my head.  "I don't want to have anything to do with Rage... or you," I say sternly, and turn my back on him again, resuming my task of wiping down a table and booth. 

"Look, I know that things obviously aren't like they used to be, but you know, just because we work together doesn't mean that we have to be friends.  This is business -- and well, I figured that you needed the money too, so..."

I turn to face him again and glare.  "And what makes you think that?" I ask heatedly.

"Ma mentioned that you've been working a lot of double shifts over the last few months and have been asking for extra hours when they're available," Michael admits, his arms crossed against his chest.

'Of course she did,' I think, getting more aggravated by the second.

"She shouldn't have told you that."

"Why? Is it supposed to be some big secret?" Michael asks with raised brows.

"Because it's none of your fucking business what I do," I tell him.

"Whatever.  I could give a shit what you do with your time.  I just thought that if you needed the money, we could both benefit from this."

I hate myself for even thinking it, but the fucker's got a point.  I do need the money, and I definitely could benefit from it.  But if it means having to work with Michael, is it really worth it?  The sick feeling I get in my stomach whenever he's within ten feet of me makes me think it isn't.

"I just... it's not a good idea, Michael.  So, thanks, but no thanks," I tell him.

I'm hoping that he doesn't push this; that he doesn't make a scene or whine and bitch and say that I "owe" him this or some bullshit like that.  He doesn't do any of that though.  He just gives a resigned sigh and nods before leaving the diner without another word.  

Don't let the fucking door hit you on the way out.

 

***
 

I glance at my watch for the hundredth time tonight, and see that it's close to midnight.  Finally!  I've got ten more minutes until I can get the fuck out of this grease hole.  I'm sooo looking forward to a nice, long, hot shower and washing away the smell of hamburgers, fries, and today's pink plate special. 

Just as I'm finished refilling the last of the bottles of Ketchup from the tables, Kiki reminds me that I need to dump the trash before I leave, and so I gather two large heavy trash bags and carry them out back.  After throwing one of the bags into the dumpster, my heart nearly jumps out of my chest when I hear the unmistakable sound of a Zippo lighter being flipped open.  Without thinking, I immediately turn around to see who is lingering behind me, and...

"Long day?" 

Brian. 

He lights his cigarette, the glow from the flame revealing his face in the pitch black night. 

"Shit, Brian!  Don't fucking sneak up on me like that!" I say, my heart still pounding in my ears.

His expression is nonchalant, and as I stare at him I'm less startled now and more stunned to see him standing there staring back at me.  "What are you doing here?" he asks me, exhaling a cloud of smoke into the brisk, night air.

I frown at him.  "I'm sorry, I thought it was obvious.  It's called working," I say, and turn to dump the other trash bag.

"Right... you were working this morning, too.  I saw you," he says, and I'll be fucking damned if it sounds like an accusation!

I stop and look at him.  "So?"

"So, isn't your fiddler missing you with all the many, many hours you're spending apart?"

I roll my eyes at him.  I'm so not in the mood for this, and I'm certainly not going to tell him anything about Ethan and me --  I don't owe him any fucking explanations.

"You know, I'd love to continue this conversation, but my shift is over, and I really just want to go home and get to bed," I tell him, and I can hear how tired my own voice sounds.  I start to walk away from him when suddenly I feel myself being pulled back firmly by the shoulder. 

"Ian's lovesick heart won't stop beating if you're a few minutes late.  I want to talk to you."

I have a strong urge to laugh.  "Excuse, me?  Brian Kinney wants to talk?  Is this a sign of the fucking apocalypse?" I huff.  He's seemingly unaffected by my comment, but I could swear I saw a slight flinch. 

Well, good.

"Mikey told me that you said you won't continue working with him on the comic," he says.

I cross my arms and stare at him defiantly.  "Wow, great news travels fast.  I guess I shouldn't be surprised."

"It's true then?  You pulled the plug on Rage," he says, and it's more a statement, than a question.

I give a frustrated sigh.  "Yeah.  But I really don't see how --"

"I just hope you didn't do it on my account."

"You know, Brian, this may be a hard thing for you to grasp in your superficial, egotistical mind, but not everything revolves around you," I say, cutting him off.

Again, the Great Kinney seems unaffected by my jab. He also doesn't seem convinced.

"So, that's it?  You're just going to quit?" 

"Yep."

"And why the fuck would you do that?" he asks.

"Why the fuck do you care?" 

"Don't be a twat.  If you need the money -- God, it's better than working your ass off night and day here, isn't it?"

"Actually, let me think about that for second -- no.  I would rather put in the long hours here than with Michael and have to put up with his shit."

"Look, don't worry about Mikey.  I've already talked to him.  I made him promise to behave himself."

I glare at him.  "You orchestrated this whole fucking thing, didn't you?"

He rolls his eyes at me this time.  "Yes, it's all a conspiracy, Sunshine," he says, his voice dripping with sarcasm. I'm trying to ignore the fact that he just called me 'Sunshine' and how it just made my heart beat a little faster.

"Oh, give it the fuck up, Brian.  I may be young, but I'm not an idiot.  Michael hates my fucking guts right now.  He would never have come up with this without someone drilling the idea in his head first," I say, meeting his gaze.

"First all of, Michael doesn't hate you.  Secondly... I might have mentioned when he was stressing out about his financial situation, that he had a good moneymaking opportunity available to him -- if he was willing to quit being such a stubborn asshole," Brian admits.

"I knew it!" I say, pointing at him.

"Well, what did you expect?"

"To stay the fuck out of it!" 

"Well, obviously, it's a good thing I intervened.  You two are being fucking drama queens over this whole thing," he says, shaking his head. 

Over this thing?  This thing?

"You both need to get your heads out of your asses.  Maybe then you'd see the big picture," he adds.

I laugh.  "Oh, yeah?  And just what is the big picture, Mr. Genius?" 

"Oh, come on, Sunshine.  You're a smart lad.  Do I really need to spell it out for you?" he says, giving me that look.  The one that says I'm wrong and should know better.  It's a look I know all too well from the first year I was around him.

"I just... can't work with him, Brian.  Not after -- I just can't."

"You mean you won't."  Our eyes meet and I almost want to laugh at the irony of this conversation.  I can see in his eyes that he's thinking the same thing, and he looks away briefly and takes a deep drag of his cigarette, staying silent for a few moments before talking again.

"You have a talent.  Both of you.  The two of you created this brilliant comic.  You don't need me to tell you that; you know it's fucking brilliant.  When you work together you come up with amazing stuff.  Look at the success of your first issue of Rage, for fuck's sake!  I just think that you should --"

"And what makes you think you have the right to fucking barge back into my life after six months of hardly saying two words to me, and suddenly lecture me on what I should and shouldn't do?" I say angrily.  I can't believe his fucking audacity!

"Look, Justin, I'm not asking you to do this for Michael, or me,  or anyone else for that matter.  Do it for yourself -- and not just because you need the money.  Lately Deb won't stop ranting about how 'Poor Sunshine's working himself to death.'  It's obvious to anyone who notices that you need to cut back on your hours.  Look in the fucking mirror -- you look like shit."

"Wow.  Thank you so much, Brian, really.  I'm flattered." 

...Is it possible he cares?  Shit.  No, don't even allow yourself to go there, Justin.

He shrugs at me.  "All I'm saying is, obviously, you're in need of a high paying job, and it's really fucking stupid for you to blow off this opportunity because of your pride."

"Oh, that's rich, coming from you!  You're the most proud person I know!" I snap at him. 

Brian kind of smirks at me then in that way that makes me want to strangle him... or let him push me to the ground and fuck me senseless. 

"Yeah, and you and I both know that when it comes to business, that if it were to involve a lot of money and more recognition of my brilliant, hard work, I wouldn't hesitate in doing the job.  You think it's fun drawing up ads for pampers or dentures? You think I fucking like all the people I have to work with?  You think all my clients are my best friends?  Think again, Sunshine.  It's business, and in order to stay on top, sometimes you have to do things you don't want to do, and that includes working with people you don't like.  And you may not be happy about it, but the fact still remains -- a deal is a deal."

Unfortunately, deep down, I know what he's saying is right -- and I really, REALLY hate it.  "Fine.  I'll think about it," I say with a sigh.

"Good.  Now, go the fuck home and get some beauty sleep," he says, and leaves me standing there alone pondering what had just happened.

What did just fucking happen?  Aside from Mel and Lindsay's party and the night I picked up my computer and found out my tuition had been paid, Brian and I have hardly seen each other let alone had a conversation, in the last six months.  And now he just fucking waltzes back into my life and starts telling me what to do!  What the hell is up with that? 

 

***
 

I still haven't told anyone that Ethan and I are over.  It's humiliating enough to admit to myself what happened, and I really don't wish to share it with everyone.  It's none of their fucking business anyway.  Unfortunately, it's a lot trickier than I thought to keep something like this a secret when there are people (Deb and Mom) who are constantly all up in my business, and essentially, I've been reduced to lying.  Damn it, why does everyone feel the need to care so fucking much about how Ethan is doing?  Whenever they ask, I have to put on my best fake smile and say, "He's fine," and then change the subject.  The good news is, I happen to know that a gig that had been scheduled for months, has Ethan out of town for at least a week, so I'm not worried about anyone I know actually running into him for the time being. 

Working at the diner is starting to really get overbearing -- not just because of the physical work, but now it seems every fucking time I turn around Brian is there antagonizing me.  I don't know what the fuck is going on.  After I left him for Ethan, I noticed that Brian seemed to be avoiding being at the diner during most of my shifts (except the first week, just so he could show everyone that he was unaffected by our break-up).  But ever since he just showed up a week ago thinking he could tell me what to do, he's been hanging around all the time, like an annoying fruit fly.  Things between us are not exactly pleasant -- in fact, he's been a real asshole, and for some reason feels the need to bring up the new "love of my life" every chance he gets.  Frankly, I'm not sure I can keep ignoring him like I have and go on pretending that the things he says aren't getting to me.  And I'm trying not to let it all get to me, I really am, but ignoring him only seems to be fueling him to spew more of his exasperating verbal bullshit towards me.  He's intentionally trying to piss me off, and it's fucking working.

I'm sick of it all -- the diner, dealing with Brian's attitude, not having my own place... I need to hurry up and make a decision before I go fucking insane!  Either way, it's apparent that I need to get the fuck away from the diner and stay away.  I remember when I used to like going there to meet up with the gang -- okay, fine, the only reason I ever used to go there in the first place was because I wanted to see Brian -- but still, the diner had become one of my favorite places to hang out, and now it's... well, everything is different. 

Now, it's just a place I dread. 

I sigh and glance at my watch.  It's a little after 1:00, and I'm actually scheduled off from the diner today.  I was getting too behind on my projects and so I've had to cut back on my hours a little. 

My mind now made up, I grab my coat and head out of Daphne's apartment, wondering if I'm about to make a huge mistake.  It's now or never.

 

***