A/N: Here I am, going in an entirely new direction, but the imagination creates what it creates, eh? Read, review, enjoy.

Part I

"Wait. How does that song go? Over the river and through the…town? No, wait. Over the river and through the…through…."

"Through the woods. Dipshit."

"Right! Over the river and through the woods—hey, don't call me dipshit, asshole."

"Don't call me asshole, fucktard."

"Don't—Jesus, never mind."

"Put that camera down. This documentary was a bad idea anyway, and I never gave you permission to put me in it."

I lowered my camera and peered over the top of it at my roommate, Andrew, who was sitting at the kitchen table in boxers, reading the newspaper.

"What do you mean this documentary was a bad idea?" I asked, pressing the power button and watching the screen go black. I sat down on the couch and looked at Andrew over the back.

"I mean," he said, turning a page in the paper. "That it was a bad idea."

"I'm giving people a different perspective of Christmas at grandma's house. I'm exposing the flaws in this culture and our need to rely on traditions instead of realizing that change is—."

"—stupid. The whole thing is stupid. Stop trying to be a trailblazer. No one likes the douche who wants to "expose the flaws" in American society," Andrew said.

To which I only gaped at him, because this asshole was a "douche who exposed the flaws in American society" if ever I'd seen one. He had won awards that basically said the same thing—sans the douche bit. Though I suppose in his defense, he hadn't really been trying. He had just been touring the country, writing articles about the people he'd met along the way and voila, instant success, instant fame, instant glory, etc. The only reason he was still renting this shitty two-bedroom apartment with me was because the stupid idiot had written all these articles and submitted them to anyone who wanted them (which turned out to be an ungodly amount of people) without pay.

"You're one to talk," I muttered.

Andrew turned away from his paper and looked at me. I recognized that look as the one he always gave me whenever he saw I was getting choked up when we watched Cast Away. The kind of look that always made me think he wasn't sure if he hated me or found me endearing enough to like me just a little.

"I didn't go out, hell-bent on making a statement," he said coolly.

I flopped back on the couch and stared at the ceiling. "What the fuck's the difference?"

Andrew didn't deign to answer. I heard him snort and then the paper rustled and I figured he was back to reading.

"Are you ever going to get a job?" he asked me a few minutes later.

I glared at the ceiling and even though I knew he couldn't see it from behind the couch, I flipped him off. "Yes I'm going to get a job, mom. I got laid off less than two weeks ago—will you give me some time to mourn in peace?"

Andrew snorted again and again I flipped him off. "Cam, you didn't even like your job. And should I also give you some money to pay your rent?"

I sat up and glared at him. "What money? You don't have a job either, dickwad."

He shrugged, unconcerned. I debated throwing one of our remote controls at him before deciding against it. Andrew was only a few inches taller than me, though I was reasonably certain that he was about fifteen times stronger than I was and could probably pound me to a bloody stump if he really wanted to.

"It's not for lack of trying," Andrew said. He set down the paper and stood up, heading into kitchen to get another cup of coffee. "And I have enough money saved away to keep paying rent for quite a few more months, which is more than I can say for you."

"How the hell could you know that? Have you been reading my bank statements?"

Andrew reappeared with coffee mug in hand and took a sip before answering, leaning against the back of the couch and looking down at me from over his shoulder. "Of course not. Reading someone else's mail is a federal offense."

I stared at him suspiciously, but his brown eyes betrayed nothing. His whole face was a blank mask that I would probably be able to dissect by now if I knew how to read people better. I was making a mental note to stop being such a lazy ass and bring in the mail from now on, instead of letting Andrew do it and risk an invasion of privacy, when the door to our apartment swung open.

If the only two owners of said apartment hadn't been home at the time, this action wouldn't have been cause for alarm. As it was, Andrew immediately straightened away from the couch and we both tensed, staring at the open door.

After a few moments of nothing happening, I tentatively cleared my throat, standing up from the couch.

"Uh…hello?" I asked.

Apparently, that was the only invitation that was needed. As soon as the words left my throat, a suitcase was tossed through the open door and hit the opposite wall, leaving a long scrape.

"Hey!" I took a step forward, but Andrew put a hand on my upper arm, clenching tight, immobilizing me. I kind of felt like shouting 'hey!' at him too, since it wasn't like I couldn't take care of myself, but Andrew's attention was focused solely on the open doorway.

It only took another moment for someone to cross the threshold, though as soon as they did, my confusion only grew because the person who entered was someone I'd never seen before. It was a guy, probably around my age, and a few inches shorter than me. He was thin as a rail with flaming red hair and a huge smile, which he was employing at that moment.

I had opened my mouth to ask something along the lines of "who the fuck are you and what the fuck are you doing breaking into my apartment, and in broad daylight, no less?" when Andrew's hand dropped from my arm and he spoke.

"What are you doing here, Matt?"

To which I could only say: "what? You know this guy?"

Andrew didn't answer me, but a new voice toward the door made me look over at the newcomer.

"Who the hell are you? And why are you in Andrew's apartment?"

This kid sounded like a douche. "Uh, this apartment is in my name, and you're trespassing."

The guy, Matt—what a stupid fucking name, I hate the name Matt—didn't even have the tact to look embarrassed, he just fished in his pocket and dug out a small, silver key.

"It's not trespassing when the owner gives you a key."

Which was true, but since I was the owner and I sure as hell hadn't given him a key, I wasn't sure what to make of that.

"I gave him a key," Andrew said from beside me.

I turned to look at him, pissed off, since I was pretty sure it was down in the contract that he had to at least ask me before making copies of our key and handing it out to people, but again, Andrew's interest was with Matt.

It was Andrew's turn to take a step forward, and this time I put a hand on his arm, trying to hold him back, though for all the good it did I might not have touched him at all. Andrew broke from my grip easily and I made another mental note to maybe hit the fucking gym once in a while, before clueing back in on what was happening.

Andrew walked over to Matt, whose smile had dimmed when talking to me, yet came back full force as he watched my roommate approach him.

"Hey," Matt said quietly. It struck me how different his tone was—like he was talking to someone extremely important to him.

It hit me then who this probably was. I had known for a while that Andrew was gay, though he hadn't ever mentioned anything about having a boyfriend or anything, but here was this kid, talking to Andrew like he was a fucking god, opening my front door with a key that Andrew had given him, and I mean, come on. I learned math up to high school calculus—I could add two and two.

Though maybe I didn't understand math as well as I thought because Andrew didn't look too happy to see Matt at all. The entire story shifted in my mind's eye, and I began to wonder if Andrew—the fucking idiot—made a key of our apartment for a psycho that decided to use it to stalk him and (considering the suitcase laying on the floor) move in with us. Maybe the suitcase was actually full of butcher knives and machetes that he was going to use to make Andrew pay—and his poor, wrong-place-wrong-time roommate to pay, as well—for breaking up with him.

And Jesus Christ if the last thing I was going to see on this earth was a machete-wielding redheaded dude, then I was going to be really fucking pissed. And holy hell, what if Matt decided to stick it to Andrew before he killed him and I had to watch an escapade of gay sex before I was finally put out of my misery?

"Cameron."

I jumped at the sound of my name and looked up to see Matt and Andrew watching me, the former with his feet planted and arms crossed, with a speculative look in his eye.

"What?"

Andrew sighed and for the first time that morning I realized that he was practically naked, standing in front of the now-closed door, and this dude that I was pretty sure he was in a relationship with or had been before, in nothing but his boxers. This fact was emphasized—and my own suspicions confirmed—when I noticed Matt's eyes travel down Andrew's naked chest before focusing on his face.

"This is my friend, Matt. Matt, this is my roommate, Cameron."

I didn't say anything, though neither did Matt, which didn't really seem to surprise Andrew. He just picked up Matt's suitcase and started forward. As in, moved toward me, as in, moved farther into our apartment, as in, away from the door.

"Whoa, whoa, whoa, wait." I said, holding up my hands. Andrew (the bastard) didn't even pause, just brushed past me, depositing the suitcase outside his bedroom door before returning.

"What the fuck are you doing?" I asked him.

"What does it look like I'm doing?" Andrew asked back, which was just annoying.

I continued on doggedly, following Andrew as he walked toward the kitchen, aware, in some part of my brain, that Matt had walked to Andrew's bedroom and brought the suitcase inside, closing the door behind him.

"It looks like you're letting that douchebag stay with us rent-free!" So I wasn't sure about the rent part, whatever. For all I know they could have been hammering out the details while I was worrying about being hacked up into tiny pieces, but I doubted it.

"It's only for a little while, until he gets back on his feet," Andrew said calmly, leaning against the counter. I had an idea that he was readying himself for a fight, but his face was still impassive.

"And who is going to be paying for his room and board, hmm? And where is he going to sleep?"

Andrew didn't even miss a beat. "I'll be paying for him, and he'll sleep in my room. I'll take the couch."

Well, shit. There went all my arguments. And I was having a hard time staying righteously angry when Andrew was being so calm and collected.

"Well that's…that's…I mean, don't you think we should discuss this? We are living here together," I finally said.

"I didn't hear you making any objections when he was asking us to stay two minutes ago."

God damn it.

I rubbed a hand over my forehead then looked up at him. "Fine, whatever. The guy's a douche, though."

Andrew rolled his eyes, an action that kind of made me wish I could gouge them out of his head. "You don't even know him. You've said maybe ten words to him, if that."

"It doesn't take ten words to recognize a douchebag."

"Jesus Christ, it's too early to deal with you." With that, he walked away, towards his bedroom, leaving me gaping after him.

It was only until after the door had closed behind him that my anger caught up with my mouth and I said "fuck you," not nearly loud enough for him to hear.

~*~*~*~

I went looking for a job that day, maybe in a misguided attempt to work off my frustration or maybe in the vain hope that some fantastic well-paying job would pop out of the sidewalk and I'd be able to move into a new apartment by myself. The only places that seemed to be hiring however were chain stores that I wasn't quite desperate enough to consider, especially since I knew that working at Dillard's would never make me enough money to pay my rent each month.

I got back to the apartment much too early for my taste, and was frustrated to find my (ugh) two roommates sitting on the couch, watching TV. At least both of them were fully clothed, and it didn't seem like they were up to anything naughty. There was a cushion between them and both of them actually looked a little uncomfortable.

Both pairs of eyes zoomed toward me when I walked through the door. I ignored them, heading toward my bedroom. When I got level with the couch however, Andrew smirked.

"Find a job?" he asked. When I flipped him off this time, I made sure he saw it.

I was about to leave again when another voice stopped me.

"Cameron, wait."

It was bad that just the sound of this guy's voice pissed me off. There wasn't even anything overtly obnoxious about it—I just couldn't stand the guy talking to me. It was ridiculous that I had such an instant aversion to him, but I honestly couldn't help it. Something about him just grated on my nerves.

I turned slowly, hoping to school my expression into something at least neutral, if not friendly. The weird look that Andrew was giving m made me sure that I wasn't doing a very good job, but Matt didn't seem too offended.

"Take a seat," he said, gesturing to the couch between himself and Andrew. It was galling that this kid had offered me a seat in my own goddamn apartment and that fact almost ruined the invitation for me.

Before I could say anything rude, probably along the lines of "fuck off, if I want to sit on your fucking face in my own fucking apartment I'll fucking do it," Andrew got up slightly from the couch, grabbed my arm, and tugged me down.

Now I think we've established that Andrew is a lot fucking stronger than me, so his mild pull sent me sprawling across the couch, landing partially on top of him, who had fallen back against the seat when my weight was pressed against him. I'm no small guy, standing at a good six feet, and Andrew was even taller than me—and bigger, considering he had muscles that I so conspicuously lacked—so laying on top of him was really just not comfortable.

I glared at him, since it was his entire fucking fault that I was practically spread over his lap, and he glared right back, his hands loosening on my arms when I shifted my weight away from him, rolling to the empty cushion to his right. He ran a hand through his dark brown hair and his dark brown eyes slanted towards me. He was so fucking dark, it was annoying. His skin was so light it could practically pass for an albino's, but his hair and eyes and his demeanor were just gloomy.

A sound from my right had me glaring at (ugh) Matt who seemed to find the whole encounter with Andrew oh-so amusing, which didn't make any fucking sense, since he was totally into Andrew and the fact that I was (inadvertently) all over him really shouldn't have been cause for enjoyment. Though apparently I really didn't know this kid at all (he was still a douche, though) since his relationship with Andrew didn't seem to be what I thought it was.

"I think we started off on the wrong foot," Matt said. His huge smile was back, all open purity like he hadn't been laughing at me five seconds ago. "I really appreciate you letting me stay with you, and I understand if you want to ask me any questions. There should always be an interview when you're letting someone live with you for a while."

"Does that mean I can kick you out if I don't like your answers?" I asked.

Andrew pinched the underside of my thigh for that, which was so unexpected and so inappropriate that I yelped and curled my leg toward my chest, away from him, giving him a dirty look as I did so.

Matt didn't even seem affronted by my snarkiness, he just laughed and shrugged. "You could try," he said easily.

I frowned, about to tell him that there was nothing I wanted to ask him, yet the fucking second I opened my mouth, my brain lost all control and I asked the thing that I had been silently pondering since I met the guy.

"Are you and Andrew having sex?"

For a moment I was totally content asking this question, like it was the most natural thing in the world, yet the moment my brain decided to start its engines again, I realized that not only was that absolutely none of my goddamn business, I didn't even want to know the answer.

To my left Andrew muttered "Jesus fucking Christ, Cam," like I was just such a hassle to deal with. Like I was the one who gave random people the key to our apartment and expected him to be totally cool with it.

Matt, however, just laughed again, shaking his head. "No," he said and I breathed a sigh of relief before he continued. "I mean, not anymore. We used to."

And it wasn't like my brain liked me enough to not supply me with about a dozen mental images to scar me for the rest of my life with that statement. I cringed inwardly, glancing toward Andrew who was watching my reaction with a sort of unattached curiosity.

"But it wasn't just sex," Matt said, and I turned to look at him again. "I mean, we dated. It just didn't really work out right. We were just better off being friends."

Right. Like I hadn't heard that one a million times before.

"So, you're just mooching off of your ex now? That's kind of weird."

Andrew pinched my leg again—higher up, more toward my ass, and I swear to God if he got any closer to my balls I would fucking castrate him.

Matt shrugged. His stupid smile hadn't even slipped. I hated this guy. "Like I said, we're just friends. I know people say it's impossible to be friends with an ex, but it really hasn't been a problem. I just got laid off from my job"—yeah, join the fucking club, buddy—"and I was already a few payments behind in my rent and my landlord couldn't afford to let me stay there anymore. Andrew had given me the key a really long time ago, in case I needed somewhere to stay back when I was still living with my parents, and I found it in my dresser and decided to use it. I didn't really expect him to be living with anyone else, though."

I grunted and turned toward the TV. I had only asked this dude two questions and already I was sick of hearing him talk. I was also slightly worried about what would come out of my mouth next and I really didn't want to find out the hard way where Andrew's next pinch would land.

After a few minutes of watching the television in silence, Matt glanced at me. "So," he began. "Did I pass?"

I didn't answer. I still hated him. Sort of.

~*~*~*~

Three days later I was woken out of a blissful sleep by the overhead light in my bedroom flicking on and a hand roughly grabbing my shoulder.

"Cam, get up."

I rolled over, away from the hand, but it just fell to my blankets instead, pulling them to my ankles and making me shiver when cold air pressed against my bare chest. I gasped, cracked an eye open then quickly shut it again when the light blinded me.

"Fucking hell, man," I tried to say, but it came out more like "ferrinellmuh."

"Come on, it's time to go to work," someone said, and of course it was Andrew, because he was a fucking bastard. And he knew full well that I didn't have a job.

I told him this as coherently as I could, and I wasn't sure if he understood or not because he just grabbed my wrist and hauled me straight off the bed, putting an arm around me when the sudden change in position made me lightheaded.

"Jesus Christ, man, stop feeling me up, would you?" I muttered once I had my head on straight, pushing him away. "Go talk to your ex if you want to get laid—he's practically gagging for it."

Andrew rolled his eyes and shot me a look that I was pretty sure meant shut the fuck up, but after just being woken up at 7:30 in the fucking morning by this douchebag, I couldn't really feel too bad about being rude.

"Why the fuck did you get me up, anyway?" I asked.

"I told you, it's time for work."

"You and I both know that I'm unemployed. So, if you want to stop being an asshole, I'm going to go back to sleep."

Andrew grabbed my arm again when I headed back towards my bed and redirected me to the bathroom instead.

"Actually, I got us both jobs at my aunt's restaurant," he said. "You're welcome. Now go get ready, you need to make a good impression and right now you look like ass."

I didn't really even understand what he was talking about until the door to the bathroom had closed and I was standing next to the shower all alone. A minute later when I still hadn't moved from my spot, Andrew cracked the door an inch and stuck his head in.

"I'm not going to fucking undress you if that's what you're waiting for," he said.

I gave him the finger again and dropped my pants, turned on the shower and stepped in as the door closed with a sharp snap.

~*~*~*~

I think that if I met Andrew's aunt in a dark alley I would be really, really fucking scared. She wasn't a really big lady—probably 5'8" or so, but she definitely had an air about her that made you think twice about back-talking her. I had barely even met the woman and already I was ending all my sentences with "ma'am." Andrew looked like he was about to die of shock, and I could hardly wait until Mrs. Shultz was out of the room so I could give him the finger.

In Mrs. Shultz's words, "Andrew will be working up front, seating customers, since he's such a handsome boy." And Mrs. Shultz would try me out as a waiter since I was, apparently, not such a handsome boy. Andrew (the bastard) seemed to find this all terribly amusing, but until we were alone together I couldn't even step on his foot for being an ass.

It wasn't until about twenty minutes later, when Andrew and I were finished being briefed, did Mrs. Shultz leave us alone to meet the rest of the staff. I shoved past Andrew as hard as I could as we left the room, yet it barely made him stumble. In retaliation, he gave me a push that sent me hurtling headfirst into a wall. I growled and glared at him, fully intending on retribution, when I heard a soft giggle from behind us.

Andrew and I both turned to stare at a girl, probably a few years younger than us, staring at us. I could usually tell when people were still in school or not and this girl definitely had a "university" air about her. She was relatively pretty, with short, dirty blonde hair that was nearly the same color as mine. She moved past us down the hallway, giving Andrew a flirtatious glance as she passed. Christ, he really was a pretty boy, wasn't he?

I called "he's hot for me!" at the girl's retreating back, which made the girl shoot a confused look over her shoulder at Andrew and made the man in question give me a castigatory punch to the stomach.

"It's good for her to know," I wheezed. "This way she won't waste her time on someone who won't ever be interested."

Andrew rolled his eyes, looking unrepentant as I tried vainly to catch my breath, cradling my aching stomach.

"I don't remember ever saying that I was hot for you. It's not good for her to have false information, is it?"

I straightened slowly, wincing. "I figured it would be easier than just flat-out outing you. But hey, if you want me to clarify…."

Andrew made a move to hit me again but I dodged him, grinning.

"Let's just go meet the staff," he finally muttered, heading down the hall. I followed after him, staring at the back of his head, thinking how unfair it was that he had guys and girls jonesing after him. He wasn't even that good-looking, really. Not that I was much of an expert on male beauty, but I mean still. He was tall and strong but it wasn't like his face was all that great. It wasn't ugly or anything, just normal. Or maybe that was only because I'd been looking at it for fucking years.

I mean, I guess he had OK eyes, if I really had to fucking think about it, but his nose was crooked! Who goes after a guy with a crooked nose? And all right, his lips weren't disfigured or anything, and they were never chapped. And they were—Jesus Christ if I could even think this word and ever successfully think of myself as straight—plump, but I mean, other than that.

My eyes swept down his back, taking in the cinch of his waist—his waist was tiny, what, was he a fucking girl or something?—and landed on his ass. If I was gay, would I have found it attractive? It was just a butt. I never got people who liked butts. A butt is a butt is a butt, I never understood it. I mean, considering that it was connected to the rest of his body, his ass was probably toned and—fucking hell, what is wrong with me?—firm, but what the fuck was so great abou—?

"What the fuck are you doing?"

"What the fuck are you doing?" I shot back automatically, snapping my eyes up to look Andrew in the face. When the fuck had he turned around? Was I looking at his crotch? What the fuck is wrong with me?

"I'm watching you checking me out. Got anything you want to tell me? I know how hard it is to come out; I could ease you through it."

"Fuck off," I muttered, brushing past him. "I wasn't checking you out."

Fuck me I was blushing so hard. It was not fucking fair to be so obviously given away by my own goddamn skin. Blood rushed up to my face so fast it nearly made me dizzy. I could practically feel my arms grow lighter as liters of blood relocated to the skin on my neck and cheeks.

Luckily, Andrew dropped the subject. Which in itself was suspicious since why the fuck would he drop a subject that he could so easily torture me with? But for the moment I just let it be, content to think that he had brushed it off.

I glanced up, wondering where I was supposed to be going, and found about twenty people looking back at me. For one blissful, delusional moment, I couldn't figure out why they were giving me such weird looks. Then I kind of realized that Andrew must have stopped walking for a reason…like, because we had reached our destination. Which meant that when he caught me—fucking hell, it was just out of curiosity, god damn it—checking out his ass and called me out, it was in this room, in front of all these people. Who now probably thought I was gay. Or at least seriously repressed.

I did my best impression of a fish for a moment, gaping at them like a fucking moron, before I felt Andrew step up beside me. I turned to look at him—still too stunned and mortified to muster up a glare—and saw that he was fucking grinning at me.

I hated that guy. Maybe more than Matt.

No, not really. I fucking hated Matt with a passion.

I made a move toward Andrew, probably to do something along the lines of trying to punch him in the face and coming away with a broken fist and bruised ego when Andrew probably wouldn't even bruise or stumble or anything, when I was saved the necessity by the reappearance of Mrs. Shultz. For one reckless moment I thought about doing it even with her in the room, but then I realized that I kind of needed this job (and my life) so I took a step away, so as not to be so tempted and tried to ignore the fact that people were still looking at me kind of curiously.

The room that we were in, which I hadn't paid much attention to before, was actually not a room at all, but the entrance foyer to the restaurant. I never really thought about what kind of restaurant this was, but I realized that it must have been a really, really nice one, because the foyer itself was huge, with a domed ceiling, marble floors, and large windows that looked out across an open field, with a few bare trees scattered here and there, and part of the parking lot peeking out from the far right window.

Mrs. Shultz gave us all another briefing, and introduced Andrew and me to the group—also mentioning that we were living together, which made a few people look satisfied, like they thought we were a fucking coupleor something, which made me twitch and made Andrew smile (the bastard). Afterwards, it was time for work, waiting for people going out to brunch or people catching an early lunch. There weren't many of these people, and none who were in my portion of the restaurant, so mostly there was a lot of hanging around.

I was avoiding Andrew like the plague, mostly because I didn't want to give people any more reason to think that we were going out, and partly because I didn't think I could stop myself from hitting him if he got within arm's reach. He kept shooting me these fucking looks though, especially when there were other people around, because he was a bastard who loved to stir the pot and piss me off, all of which he was doing pretty successfully.

Thankfully I had managed to convince the girl we had seen earlier that we were categorically not going out, which she seemed slightly disappointed about and I didn't know what the fuck to make of that. After a few minutes however, she warmed up to me a little bit, and I wasn't even too annoyed that I was only her second choice after Andrew.

"So you guys are living together, but seriously have never dated?"

OK so I spoke too soon. Maybe I was a little annoyed with her.

"No. No, I'm not gay. Andrew is totally queer"—I was over feeling bad about flat-out outing him. I was going to out him to every fucking customer that walked in here—"but I'm not."

The girl—Mandy—looked a little confused, like she couldn't figure out how two guys could live in an apartment together and not be having sex with each other, and it was around that time when I decided I wasn't desperate enough to get laid to put up with her. I excused myself none too suavely, and ended up wandering toward the entrance of the restaurant, only remembering as I got closer that I was supposed to be avoiding this part of the building because the fucktard Andrew was here, but by that point he was already waving me over and I decided to humor him and see what he wanted.

He was talking to another girl that I had seen earlier, who was leaning against the front of his podium, long black hair trailing down her back and head propped up with one hand.

As soon as I was in hailing distance, Andrew gestured toward me. The girl glanced at me, said something, and he replied by saying "yeah, that's him," and then the girl was holding out her hand toward me.

"Hi, Cameron. I'm Rachelle," she said. "Andrew's cousin."

I took her hand, looking between her and Andrew and thinking how the fuck are these people cousins? Since the girl I was looking at was very obviously of Asian descent and Andrew was so obviously not.

Rachelle must have noticed my confusion because she dropped my hand and gave me a little smirk. "I'm adopted," she said.

"Ah," I said, glancing toward Andrew to see him rolling his eyes (the bastard).

"Anyway, I've heard a lot about you from Andrew," Rachelle said, which I could only guess was a bad thing since the only thing Andrew and I ever did successfully was argue. Rachelle must have been a fucking mind reader or something because she smiled, showing teeth this time, and shook her head.

"It's been good things, don't worry."

When I looked at Andrew again, he was giving me the Cast Away look, and I kind of wanted to flip him off, but restrained because I didn't know if it would offend Rachelle or not.

"So Andrew tells me you're working on a documentary," Rachelle said. We moved back toward the podium a little, Rachelle taking her spot in front of it and leaving me to stand behind with Andrew.

I didn't turn to see Andrew's reaction because I kind of felt like I was looking at him too much, which was just fucking stupid because I was 24 years old and could look at whoever I damn well pleased, but still.

"Kind of," I hedged. "I'm sort of thinking of a new angle"—or planning on scrapping the whole thing because your cousin's a dick who totally crushed my current plans—"and so that will take a little bit of time."

"Really?" Andrew asked. And just hearing the surprise in his voice made my jaw clench because yes, really, and it was your entire fucking fault.

"Yeah," I muttered.

"What, did your grandma not want to be in your little movie either?"

I stepped on his foot then, leaning my entire—pretty substantial—weight into it, and the bastard didn't even flinch. Not even a little! God damn it. I really needed to bulk up, if only because I could cause more damage that way.

"Your grandma?" Rachelle asked curiously, and Andrew jumped in before I could stop him.

"Cam was making a documentary, exposing the flaws in our society in an interpretation about Christmastime at grandma's house. There was something about tradition and change in there too but I don't really remember how it all fits together, but do I have the basics straight?" He was looking at me, a smirk hovering around his mouth and I hated him so much in that moment, because he was so obviously enjoying my humiliation that I had to cram my hands into the pockets of my jeans and glare down at the floor to keep from hitting him.

"Jesus Cam, calm down. I'm just messing with you," he muttered near my ear and I couldn't see him but he was so fucking close to me that his breath brushed against the curve of my neck. I craned away, supremely uncomfortable, and when I glanced back at him, he looked a little nonplussed.

Rachelle was watching us with a similar expression which only increased my discomfort.

"Are you OK?" she asked. Which was nice of her, since I had only just met her, but I kind of didn't want to deal with her sympathy at the moment.

"Uh yeah," I muttered. "But I should go see if Mandy needs any help."

I waited until they both nodded at me so it didn't feel so much like running away, before I turned and left. Mandy, it turned out, didn't need any help. Nor did anyone else. Thankfully, by the time noon rolled around the place got pretty crowded and I didn't have room in my brain to think about anything other than who ordered the filet mignon and whether table 23 needed water refills.

~*~*~*~

"Jesus, you're such a fucking klutz."

I yawned, not awake enough to even make a somewhat decent comeback to that statement as Andrew knelt in front of me, a bottle of Club Soda in one hand, a cloth in the other.

"Will you hurry up? I'm about to pass out. I just want to go home and sleep," I muttered.

"Why the fuck am I doing this in the first place? Do I look like a housewife to you?"

I patted his head clumsily, yawning again. "You're pretty enough," I muttered.

Andrew batted my hand away, giving me a dirty look. "I'm assuming that was meant to be insulting, so fuck you."

I laughed, my head lolling to one side, eyes sliding shut.

"Hey." Something cold and wet hit my face and I jerked, my eyes snapping open. Andrew fingers were wet with Club Soda, having just flicked some at my face.

"Is it out?' I asked, looking down at the red wine stain on my shirt.

"No it isn't, since you waited the whole night before trying to get it out. Now it's set and probably not ever coming out," he said.

I looked down on him, realizing that if anyone came into the kitchen at this moment our positions would look pretty compromising. I was sitting on one of the stainless steel tables while Andrew kneeled between my knees, his forearms resting on my thighs.

"I don't think I can do this every day," I said. My body was falling forward unconsciously, yet before I could slump forward all the way, hands landed on my shoulders and guided me back.

"All right, all right, come on," Andrew said quietly.

I couldn't stop myself from yawning again and sliding off the counter onto the floor. We were nearly the last ones to leave the restaurant, only two guys remained, bussing tables, but I was so fucking tired—and it was only nine o'clock—that I barely even noticed.

Andrew and I moved out into the fucking freezing December night and hailed a cab. Our apartment wasn't too far from the restaurant and we had walked this morning but I could hardly hold myself straight, let alone walk a few blocks to the apartment.

I was more exhausted than I had been in a really long time, and on the one hand I was happy that Andrew had managed to score us these jobs, since it meant that I could still afford food and a roof over my head, but on the other hand I wasn't sure if I could work this hard six days a week (neither Andrew nor I had to work on Mondays, which was fine I guess except it was a fucking Monday—what the hell else was I going to do on a Monday?) for god knows how long.

"Cam, come on." Andrew was shaking me again, like he had done this morning, and I realized it was because I had begun to doze off against the door of the cab. I straightened away from the window, leaving Andrew to pay the driver and making my way toward the front door of our apartment.

"You could have at least chipped in," he griped when he caught up with me on the stairs—fucking elevator was still out of service.

I gave a halfhearted shrug and apparently Andrew didn't really care too much (or he was just taking pity on me and my exhausted state) since he didn't press the subject. I stumbled through the threshold to our apartment, shooting a dirty look at the moocher on the couch, who didn't even notice because he was so busy staring over my shoulder at Andrew.

I moved straight to my bedroom, stripping off my shirt and pants and collapsing onto the bed, falling asleep within moments.

By Friday after work I was about ready to die. I had only started work on Wednesday but three days was still enough to completely drain me—which sucked, since I still had to work Saturday and Sunday. It didn't help that most of the workers were staying late after work on Friday to celebrate the birthday of one of the cooks, Denny, a short, happy-go-lucky guy who brewed his own beer.

With so much homemade alcohol going around, not to mention the wine that Mrs. Shultz had let us take from the storeroom, it didn't take long for most of us to get pretty sloshed. I was leaning against a counter in the kitchen, watching my coworkers decide that yes, the only thing that would make this party better would be music, and they all scuttled away to the main part of the restaurant to turn on the radio.

I sighed, leaning more heavily against the table as someone rammed into my side. I stumbled badly, off balance because of the alcohol and I heard Andrew—of course it was that fucker Andrew—give what could only be described as a giggle and grab my arm.

"Whoops, sorry, man."

I was so far gone already that I didn't even say anything mean back to him, just settled back into place. Andrew was leaning heavily against my side, and I wondered if he had just passed out. I could feel his breath, hot and heavy and steady against my neck, and for some reason it didn't bother me nearly as much as it had a few days ago.

I glanced at him, saw that he wasn't passed out at all, just staring straight ahead. I studied his face and said the first thing that came to my mind.

"You look like Rachelle."

It took a moment for Andrew to react, but when he did, it was in a big way. He howled with laughter, startling me for a moment before I was laughing with him, nearly sobbing even though it wasn't really funny at all.

"You're so fucking stupid," Andrew chortled, catching his breath a few minutes later. "She's not…we're not…blood."

I nodded, peering at his face again.

"I don't know…she's pretty, you're pretty…I think I'm going to ask her out."

Andrew's eyes took a moment to focus on my face, then he just stared at me for a moment, his mouth gaping open.

"You're…what?" he asked.

"Rachelle. I'm going to ask her out," I said. Then added, "later. Not right now."

Andrew seemed really, really confused. Definitely more confused than the situation warranted.

"But…" he spluttered. "But you're not…you…."

I didn't know what the fuck he was trying to say, and I didn't really care. I looked down at him again, his cheeks flushed, his mouth gaping open, a bottle dangling haphazardly from one hand and he didn't really look anything like Rachelle at all, but for some reason I couldn't get that idea out of my brain.

For a moment we just kind of stared at each other and I didn't really know what Andrew was thinking—hell I didn't even know what I was thinking and I wasn't sure how it happened since my brain was sort of lagging behind my actions at this point, but before I knew what the fuck was going on, I was pressed back against the top of the stainless steel table with Andrew lying on top of me, his mouth open, hot and wet on mine.

There was a moment when I couldn't figure out what exactly to do. Here was my gay roommate of years who had never (seriously) made a move on me, who was now lying on top of me with his tongue in my mouth. And it was around this time when I started thinking Jesus Christ, I'm not gay…but I was checking him out earlier, is that all it takes for someone to turn gay? Have I been gay for years and not even known it? How could you not know if you were gay? Oh, what the fuck is going on? It was also around this time when Andrew's hands redirected, one of them gripping into my hair and pulling me closer and the other moving down to rub against the front of my jeans. And I was drunk enough that I was pretty horny but not drunk enough that I couldn't get it up and my brain kind of went who the fuck cares if you're making out with a guy? It feels good and you can't even remember the last time you got laid, dipshit.

That was apparently all the encouragement that was needed because all at once my hands flew up to grip Andrew's hair—so short, so unlike a girl's, because, fucking duh, he wasn't a girl—and pulled him even closer. Andrew's hands quickly flattened to the tabletop to keep his balance, his weight falling between my legs, making both of us groan. He leaned farther over me using those fucking two inches he's got on me in height to totally dominate the proceedings. I had to tilt my head back to keep our mouths together but after a minute I turned away, getting air to my lungs.

Andrew didn't seem to care at all, his mouth just attached to my neck, sucking and licking and forcing the most ridiculous noises out of my mouth, noises I was fairly certain I had never made before in my fucking life.

"Mmm," Andrew hummed contentedly, pressing his hips down tighter against mine, making me thrust up in turn. He chuckled, which was just condescending enough to make me frown, but then one of his hands was trailing up my shirt and he was thrusting against me again and I kind of forgave him because who the fuck needed to be angry right now? Not me.

By the time that we were really and truly just dry humping on a table in the kitchen, Andrew leaned his forehead into the crook of my neck, breath hot and damp on my skin. We were both panting which was pretty embarrassing but I couldn't really even bring myself to care and the table was creaking a little bit every time Andrew gave a particularly hard push. Andrew grabbed one of my legs and crooked it around his waist, knocking something to the floor with a loud smash in the process.

He startled, leaning back so fast it made me dizzy just watching him. Cool air rushed to fill the void where his body had been moments before and all of a sudden I remembered that uh, this was Andrew, who was my roommate, and a guy. And I tried to be more concerned with this fact but really the only thing I cared about at that moment was that I was painfully hard and I knew from one look at the front of Andrew's slacks that he was too.

"What was that?" Andrew muttered, leaning over the side of the table and looking down at the floor.

I was content to let him sate his curiosity until he moved one leg, looking like he was about to climb off the table to investigate further.

"No," I said firmly, tugging on his arm. For a moment he stared at me clearly, looking so ruffled and sexed up and sort of sober that I was taken aback, but then he was back on top of me, pushing against me again and my thoughts rushed out of my head in a hurry.

"Nngh…" I muttered, which wasn't a fucking sound that normal people should be able to make but hey, there it was.

Andrew's forehead pressed against mine, our noses brushing together, thrusting against each other and it really didn't take fucking long at all before his eyes clenched shut, his beer breath quickening against my mouth. He shuddered, long and deep and then his mouth was pressed against mine again, persistent, as his hand reached between my legs.

It was then, right then, right before I fucking came, that the door to the kitchen opened. Denny came in first, his jovial smile fading into a look of mild surprise to see Andrew and me laying on top of the table, looking pretty fucking obviously like we were two seconds away from a full on gay sexcapade.

Behind him was Mandy, behind her were the two busboys who had been cleaning tables when Andrew and I left on Wednesday, behind them was the rest of the kitchen staff, behind them was Rachelle and Andrew's hand was still cupping me through my slacks and I was mortified but still hard and it was taking quite a bit of conscious effort to not thrust up.

"We heard…a crash…." Denny said hesitantly. "And the music isn't…." He seemed a little lost for words and I couldn't quite blame him. Andrew was still leaning over the top of me, our heads mere inches away, his hand still between my legs.

"Just a bottle," Andrew said, nodding toward the floor. The hand on my crotch shifted, pressing down just a little and I sat up quickly, causing Andrew to do the same and his hand to fall away. I glared at him because he had fucking done that on purpose, but he didn't even look repentant. If anything he was just amused. Fucking asshole.

"Well," Rachelle said, looking just as amused as her cousin. "We'll just leave you to it, then." She retreated back out the door to the kitchen, leaving the rest of our coworkers to follow.

The silence that followed was one of the most awkward that I had ever experienced, which was really saying something. Andrew and I just looked at each other over the table and Jesus Christ I had just made out with a guy, like hardcore spit and tongue and touching and humping and holy shit, there was a stain on the front of Andrew's pants that was because of me and I kind of needed to get the fuck out of there before I went insane.

Andrew must have sensed that I was kind of having a breakdown and I was still pretty drunk but I managed to slide off the table, glass crunching under my feet as I took a step away from him.

"Hey," Andrew said quietly, holding his hands out like he was fucking surrendering or something. "Hey, Cam…hey man, just relax." Which was really fucking easy for him to say since he was probably still flying high from his fucking orgasm.

"Cam."

He took a step forward and I took one back, the only thing keeping me from running straight out of there was the fact that my ego wouldn't let me look like that much of a pussy.

"This was…not good," I said, which wasn't really what I meant to say and could've been construed in a lot of different ways. Andrew seemed to be thinking the same thing since his expression shifted from regret to confusion to anger in about half a second flat.

"What do you mean it wasn't good?" he hissed and his eyes totally just snapped to my crotch and I was really bad at reading him but even I knew that at that moment he was thinking something like I think your dick would beg to differ.

I cringed, just a little, only because when Andrew got angry that was usually the time when I remembered that he could injure me fairly seriously probably without even trying.

"I didn't mean like that," I muttered. Andrew just stared at me. He was still flushed and his lips were really red and swollen and holy hell I think I might really be turning gay because I kind of just wanted to keep making out with him some more, but that was quickly not becoming an option.

"Then what did you mean?" he asked. He seemed kind of pained when he asked this, like the last thing he wanted to be doing was standing around talking about what this all meant.

"I just…I mean…." I stopped. Andrew waited, none-too-patiently for me to come up with the right words. "I'm not gay," I finally said.

The way that Andrew's eyes just barely twitched made me certain that he had restrained himself from rolling them. I kind of wanted to ask him what the fuck that was supposed to mean since everyone was allowed a little bit of sexual experimentation and just because I'd missed it in college didn't mean that I wasn't still entitled to it and it didn't necessarily mean I was into guys, when Andrew sighed.

"Look," he said. "I'm still drunk and so are you and I don't want to fucking talk about this so let's just go back to the apartment."

I looked at him for a second before nodding. Both of us skirted around the smashed beer bottle and I only felt slightly guilty about making someone else clean it up. Luckily, god must have decided that he was going to take pity on me because Andrew and I didn't see anyone else in the restaurant as we left.

We walked back to our apartment in silence and when we reached the front door, Andrew headed to the couch to lay down and I moved straight to my room, closing—and after a moment's hesitation, locking—the door behind me.

For a moment I just leaned against the wall, looking at the crack between the door and the floor, wondering why I wasn't freaking out more, or if I should be freaking out at all. And then I realized that I still had to fucking work the next day—probably with a hangover—and no one at the restaurant was going to believe me anymore if I tried to tell them that I wasn't gay and that Andrew and I weren't fucking around. Jesus Christ.

I wandered to my bed and lay down. The alcohol helped me along a little at that point and I didn't have to wait very long to fall asleep.