Pittsburgh, August 2002

“You’re sure you have everything you need?” Jennifer inquired, looking at her nineteen-year-old son as he retrieved a little, white, bedside lamp from one of the three boxes sitting on the floor of the tiny space that was her son’s new living quarters.

“Yeah…” Justin went to plug in the lamp before placing it carefully on the coffee table near the sofa bed. Looking at the result, he nodded imperceptibly before turning back around to look at his mother, offering her a small smile.

It was an important day for Justin. One year and three months ago, he’d been attacked by Chris Hobbs, one of his classmates at Saint James Academy. The young man had bashed him with a baseball bat in the parking lot of the hotel where their prom had been held. If not for a random client who had found Justin lying unconscious on the filthy floor, his blood gushing out of his injury and flooding the cold cement, he could have died. And even if he hadn’t, a part of him had been taken away from him that night. Forever.

Before that event, he was an ordinary teenager, eager to discover all the joys that the world had to offer. Everyone talked about him as being a cheerful and happy young man, brilliant in everything he put his heart into. His life was filled with promise, he had parents who adored him, and he felt like a bright future was within arm’s reach.

But then the attack changed everything.

The damages Chris Hobbs caused that night didn’t stop with the bashing. Everybody in Pittsburgh, including his own father, learned that Justin Taylor, the beautiful young man with the promising, brilliant future, was gay.

Thus, Craig Taylor had blamed his son for what happened to him. That had hurt Justin almost as much as the physical damages did. Until that moment, he had never doubted that his father would always love him. He’d been dead wrong.

As a result, his mother had ended her marriage within two months after that fateful night, and moved into a little condo in a different neighborhood. She also had to take a job as a realtor. The guilt Justin felt, adding to the physical damages he endured, was too much to deal with. Physically, he’d lost a lot of blood that night, and his heart had stopped twice during the ride in the ambulance. He was in a coma for a week, stayed at the hospital for a month, and underwent rehab for three months. His right hand never fully recovered. And yet, it wasn’t the worst part. Inwardly, he secretly hoped that he could have died that night, because he felt like it would have been easier than this hell that Hobbs had inflicted upon him, a hell he was living in, an everyday remembrance of what he’d lost: the innocence. A shell had taken his place now, empty and meaningless.

The trial was a farce, of course, and left Justin feeling extremely angry at the world, and at whoever had let this happen to him. Chris Hobbs was sentenced to eighty hours of community service, and Justin fell into a state of depression unlike anything he could have ever imagined. Furthermore, he became so scared, terrified to do anything except stay in his room. For months, he couldn’t set one foot outside. Once he left rehab and had refused therapy, he just stayed home, alone, going through uncontrollable, moody fits of rage, while being eaten up by the frustration he felt over his own predicament. He couldn’t be touched, even by his own mother. He couldn’t smile. He couldn’t live.

One day in late December, during one of his crises, he pushed his mother so hard that she fell and hit her forehead on the corner of his desk. Blood had begun to flow freely on her face, and Justin totally lost it. He suffered from a panic attack so strong and so severe that his mother had to call 911 to have him sedated and hospitalized.

In the end, this event had made Justin realize that he couldn’t keep going without fighting back. Even if it felt like an impossible battle to win at the time, he had to at least try and patch his life back together if only for his mother, who had been taking care of him as best she could.

He knew what it would mean. Therapy. Opening up. Facing it. As far as he was concerned, it was like breathing under water.

Still, he had no choice anymore. So, at the beginning of January, he began to see a therapist twice a week. And now, eight months later, he was moving into a tiny little room no bigger than an oversized closet in a bourgeois apartment building, overlooking the entrance to Carnegie Mellon. The studio apartment was located across the street, in the back of the first building; the inner courtyard allowed the tenant a private access via a hidden staircase leading to the seventh floor. It had been an ancient servant’s room, back in the time when the building was the property of a rich and bourgeois family; so, it was barely 130 square feet, but was furnished, and came with a reasonable rent. Moreover, the location of the building, situated just across the street from Carnegie Mellon, was a real bonus for Justin.

Going back to a ‘normal’ life turned out to be a real challenge. After all, just walking in the street was an ordeal every time, but Justin was determined to push his limits as much as he could. He didn’t know how he was going to react when surrounded by all the other students on the campus, but it didn’t really matter. If he wanted to move on, he had to start somewhere. He couldn’t hide forever at his mother’s condo.

It had taken some persuasion for Justin to convince his mother that he was ready to live on his own and to go to college. His psychologist had given him his blessing, considering that the next step Justin needed was to turn his life around. Justin’s choice of implementing that goal was to attend college, and his mother needed to move on with her life as well. Still, he wasn’t ready to take too many risks, either; so, this place was the best compromise. It was isolated – there were no other tenants in this part of the building – inexpensive, and couldn’t be closer to the campus.

“I’m still not sure about this place, Justin,” his mother stated, looking around at the faded walls and damaged woodwork surrounding the room. The old, cracked floor was covered with a carpet that had seen better days, and the folding shutters were broken and seemingly rotten. “Are you sure the electricity is working okay? And what about the bathroom?”

“The electricity works just fine, and the bathroom is just across my door,” Justin replied, slightly annoyed with his mother’s questions. “Listen.” He walked over to stand right in front of her, lightly placing his hands on her forearms.  “I’m aware this is not a palace…”

“To say the least…” Jennifer cut him off, her eyes focused on the rusted heater before gazing up at her son and noticing his impatience.

Justin let his hands fall to his side. “Mom…” he lightly reprimanded her, “It’s still the closest place to the college, and it doesn’t cost a lot of money. I can’t afford anything more expensive.” Seeing his mother ready to protest, he hastily added, “YOU can’t help me more than you’re already doing. You have to keep your money, for you and Molly.” He gave her a pointed look. “We agreed this was for the best, remember?”

Jennifer stared at her son, acknowledging how far he’d come since starting therapy, even if she knew he wasn’t out of the woods yet. Justin still couldn’t stand to be touched, except for the occasional contact he initiated like the one he just had a moment earlier, and she feared he would not be able to get through the coming year without any setbacks. But, he was a survivor and she would respect his decision to do this on his own, even if she would be worried sick about him every single second of every single day.

“Okay…” She finally relented. “But, if you need anything…” She looked at him intently, wanting him to hear her, “even if it’s to come home or for me to be here more often. I just want to be there for you…” She wanted so badly to take him in her arms, but she refrained. “All you have to do is ask, okay?”

“Of course I will,” Justin promised with a small smile, but it didn’t reach his eyes. He raised his eyebrows in front of his mother’s unconvinced gaze to remind her, “I said I promised, Mom.” That was all he could do.   As for the rest, he preferred not to think about it anymore, because when he did, the pain always won in the end.

Two days later…

Emmett Honeycutt was walking up the steps to the building’s front porch and heading toward the main entrance situated a few feet away when he noticed a young man approaching from the inner courtyard located on the opposite side of the porch. This new tenant was blond, not very tall, but quite attractive, although he looked like he would rather be invisible. He kept glancing at him furtively, and Emmett thought he was even slowing down and redirecting his steps so as to avoid him further. Well, it’s not just a thought, he decided, but a reality. He had encountered him twice in the last two days, and every time the blond had looked really uncomfortable in his presence.

But what this young man didn’t know was that Emmett Honeycutt wasn’t the kind of man who looked the other way. He didn’t know why, but he was intrigued; the extremely small room had been vacant for quite some time – Emmett only knew of its existence, because the concierge had told him about it. George was a sweetheart and most of all a real chatterbox, having known all the occupants of the building for decades.

Emmett was living on the third floor of the main building in his 2000-square-foot apartment, a place he had inherited from his dear Aunt Lula when she had passed away three years ago.

The apartment reflected the charm and sophistication that had once been the heart of the old building a time long ago. There were high ceilings in every room, overlooking common areas: a living room that could welcome a lot of people, and also a separated dining room, five bedrooms (including two private bathrooms), three offices, a huge kitchen, and one other bathroom. Crown moldings ran along the top of the antique-white walls, and the hardwood floors and eclectic collection of furniture made the place a perfect mix of modern and antique.

Emmett loved his place.

When he had first moved in, he was barely legal; at eighteen years old, it had been the first time he had a place on his own, and what a place it was! He came from a small town in Mississippi, and besides his Aunt Lula, no one in his family had never really accepted him for who he was, especially after it became obvious that he wasn’t going to be like every other boy. That’s why he had always loved to visit his single aunt in Pittsburgh for the summer. She was open-minded, smart, and successful, and possessed a great sense of humor. Most of all, she had made him feel special, respected and loved. He had loved her dearly, and every year, he’d spend most of the summer in her company. That is, until she had died from a heart attack during the winter of 1998.

Shortly after her passing, Emmett learned that she had left him all her belongings, along with the beautiful apartment they had shared during the summers, laughing and talking until the early hours of the morning. So, he decided to leave his hometown and he moved in.

He had never regretted his decision ever since.

“Fuck!”

As part of his therapy, Justin had been walking around aimlessly, running a few errands, when – deciding to return home – he tripped on the paving stones on the ground near the porch. His cell slipped from his right hand, and the contents of the heavy paper bag he was carrying in his left arm scattered all over the pavement.

“Shit…” He cursed out loud before leaning forward to grab his phone. Just then, he heard footsteps of someone rushing over and hastily heading towards him.

“Oh, Honey! You look like you need some assistance! Here…let me help you.” The voice was kind and cheerful, yet Justin couldn’t help it. He tensed immediately.

He couldn’t look at the man’s face yet. Taking a deep breath, he slowly let his eyes travel upward, his gaze meeting canvas blue shoes, orange pants, a designed white top emphasizing the torso of the man and purposely slip in the front, until, at last, he finally met blue eyes staring back at him with amusement. He recognized the man as his flamboyant neighbor, the one he’d already walked by twice in the past couple of days.

“Hello?” The man asked playfully. He then proceeded to lean forward in order to grab an apple which had rolled a few feet away. “You’re the new tenant in the ‘hidden’ room, right?” he asked, while gathering different things around them.

Justin let him, not wanting to be rude – he was a WASP, after all – even if he wanted to bolt, and finally answered, “Yes, I am.” News travels fast, it seems, Justin mused while gathering up his groceries.

“How is it? I’ve always been curious about that place…like maybe there is a story behind it, you know? Maybe in another time, the owner of the building had a secret affair with a young and beautiful man, and they met in secret and made passionate love in this room, professing their undying love for each other behind closed doors!” the man exclaimed, lost in his own fantasy, before looking back at Justin as if he just realized he wasn’t alone. “Don’t mind me, I’m hopelessly romantic…” He winked before standing up, his hands full.

Justin couldn’t help but smile a little at the man in reaction to his behavior.

“By the way, I’m Emmett. Emmett Honeycutt. You know, like Bond, James Bond. Except I’m not…James Bond, I mean…” He frowned and shook his head slightly, as if he were wondering why he was saying those kind of things. “Anyway, I’d shake your hand if my hands weren’t full of your stuff.” He smiled then, a bright and real smile.

“I’m Justin…” Justin introduced himself, pinching his lower lip, “Justin Taylor.”

“Well, it’s nice to meet you, Justin Taylor. May I ask you if I can come with you to help you take your groceries to your room? Looks like you could use a couple extra hands, and mine happen to be free at the moment.” The paper bag was completely torn. Justin would have to make at least two trips to take it all upstairs.

Justin hesitated – he really didn’t want to have anybody in his room – but finally, acknowledging that it would be stupid to refuse, he agreed; consequently, he lead Emmett through the inner courtyard and to the entrance of the hidden stairs.

He was amused, though, to see that his neighbor was slowing down at each floor, jogging up each flight of steps with an “It’s great training to live on the top floor without an elevator to use; you will wind up with one of the most beautiful asses in Pittsburgh!” Finally arriving at the seventh floor, Emmett breathed heavily, berating himself. “I promise *gasping*…to work *gasping*…and not *gasping*…to play with *gasping*…my gym *gasping*…trainer… again.” Taking a little time to catch his breath, Emmett commented dryly, “You don’t need any more exercise after that…”

Justin was more relaxed now, especially knowing he would soon be in the safety of his room. Truthfully, Emmett seemed to be a nice guy, and Justin knew he should be more open. The only friend he still had was his childhood friend, Daphne, and his therapist was pushing him to try and meet new acquaintances. Who knows? Maybe he and Emmett could become friends? But was he ready for that? Only time would tell.

“Thanks for your help, Emmett.” He opened the door to his room after placing some of his groceries down on the floor and slipped inside, leaving Emmett standing in front of his door with instructions to ‘wait.’ Soon he returned with a basket, and used it gather up all the items. Emmett, seemingly understanding that he would not be invited to come inside any time soon, handed Justin the grocery items clutched in his hands and stepped back.

“Well, I think my duty as a welcoming neighbor is done…” Emmett tried lightly, taking one last chance to see if Justin would invite him in or not.

He understood soon enough that it wasn’t going to happen, though. “So…if you need anything, I live on the third floor of the main building. I must warn you, though, that my roommate is not as charming as I am, but feel welcome to stop by anytime. If I’m there, I’ll be thrilled to have you over for dinner or something. If I’m not there, well… You know what? Here’s my cell number…” He retrieved a piece of paper and a pen from the front pocket of his shirt, and wrote his number down before holding it out for Justin.

Justin reached out and grabbed the piece of paper carefully, so as not to touch Emmett’s fingers. He mumbled his thanks quietly, and at last Emmett smiled at him and turned around.

“Emmett?” Justin called after him.

“Yes, Sweetie?” Emmett inquired.

Justin looked at this man who was a stranger to him twenty minutes ago, and who hadn’t hesitated to help him, being so welcoming and joyful, while he himself had almost held back any kind of gratitude, too careful to let himself relax for even a moment. He took a deep breath, not caring one way or another if Emmett might find him weird – it was a sure thing by now – and said, “Would you like to come for a drink, some other time?”

Emmett seemed surprised but happy, answering playfully without a single hesitation, “I thought you’d never ask…” Then, his expression changed into more of a kind and thoughtful gaze. “But if you’re not comfortable with me being here, don’t feel obligated to invite me.”

“It’s not that…It’s just…” Justin struggled to respond, feeling almost bashful.

“It’s okay, Justin,” Emmett reassured him.  “Some other time, then? Maybe next week?”

“Yeah, okay. Maybe next week.” Justin smiled at Emmett, as much as he could anyway, and watched him head down the stairs until he disappeared from sight, singing out loud some famous song that sounded suspiciously like Madonna’s.

The next day, a new challenge was waiting for Justin. He needed to head over to the campus in order to finish his registration – on his own, as the therapist had required of him - and he knew that this first time would prove to be a deciding facing in ensuring his future. If anything went wrong today… well, he didn’t want to know what could happen. In fact, nothing could go wrong. Period.

Consequently, he woke up early. He couldn’t eat – his stomach was too tied up in knots to swallow anything, but he took a long shower in order to relax as much as possible, clearing his mind from any negative thoughts.

Afterward he left his room, headed down the seven floors, pausing in front of the open exit. He breathed in the early morning air several times, the warmth of the sunny morning comforting him until, at last, he placed his left foot firmly on the paving stone directly in front of him.

Two hours later, he was standing in front of the door to Emmett’s apartment, bolstered by a new hope that he was, indeed, going to be fine. In fact, he felt like flying, which explained why he was there in the first place. He had gone over to the campus, wanting to flee at the sight of so many bustling students nearby. His need to escape had been strong, but he had held on, remembering his sessions and his therapist’s voice telling him that he was safe, and reminding him to breathe deeply with each step he took.

And he had hung on. Thank god for small victories, he thought.

Therefore, he’d wanted to share his triumph, and had called his mother, but she didn’t answer. He’d left a message, so as not to worry her, and had tried to contact Daphne, but she was still on vacation. So he’d pondered his options, and as he was heading home, he ultimately decided to surprise Emmett by stopping at his apartment, sensing the man would be happy to be invited over for a drink. Who knows if he would have the courage to invite him tomorrow? His moods were still quite unpredictable, so Justin took his chance.

After rapping on the impressive, wooden door with a pewter door knocker, Justin stepped back and waited. After a long moment – Justin was ready to give up and leave – the door opened; but the man that greeted him with nothing but an unbuttoned pair of jeans and an intimidating stare was not Emmett.

The man was beautiful: tall, with a lean yet toned body, chestnut hair, hazel eyes, but most of all, he oozed self-confidence and even hotness. However, Justin was too uncomfortable to fully appreciate it. Conversely, the man was currently giving him the once over very slowly, as if Justin was some lab specimen and not a man. As a result Justin tensed, but he couldn’t seem to find the strength to move.

“Not bad…” The man stated. Then he raised his eyebrows, obviously waiting for Justin to react. His eyes were boring into his, and Justin felt himself blushing, before gazing away.

Also, as much as Justin would have wanted to, no words came out.

“You know, when you knock on someone’s door, uninvited, some people would expect you to introduce yourself…” He said with a fake smile, his hand casually gripping the frame of the door, confidently standing there in such a way that it was obvious he knew how damn hot he was. Justin couldn’t move. In response to Justin’s silence, the man added, rolling his eyes, “or not…”

Justin squirmed as he tried to look behind the man’s shoulder to see if there was any movement in the apartment.

The man’s posture changed then. A moment earlier, Justin could have sworn that the man was hitting on him. Now, it seemed he couldn’t get rid of him fast enough. “For fuck’s sake, what do you want? Do you even speak English? Bonjour? Buongiorno? Hola? Hallo? Hello?” The man fidgeted; he was not the patient type. “You’re here for what? To see my roommate? Or my cock, maybe?”

Justin finally emerged from his trance. And once he did, he realized he was beginning to feel pissed. “Emmett?”

“He speaks! What a relief…” The man mocked him openly. “Unfortunately for you, Emmy Lou is out for the day, so I’m afraid you’ll have to come back some other time…” Then, he added, condescension dripping from voice, “Don’t feel like you need to, though.”

Justin glared back in reaction to the man’s sarcastic tone as he turned to leave, hearing him add, “And don’t forget to call first next time! It’ll help me not to waste my time with an anti-social prick!”

Those words were followed by a bang, the sound of the door being violently shut.

Justin had met Brian Kinney.

And it was just the beginning.