Disclaimer: I do not own Queer as Folk, or any of the characters, as much as I'd like to.

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Not Again

*** Justin POV

I walk down the street, shoving my hands in my pockets. It's cold; my breath creates delicate puffs of smoke in the air. I speed up, wanting to get back to the loft as soon as possible. I'm maybe eight minutes away. It's late, almost four thirty in the morning. I've had late nights studying for PIFA before, but this one really drained me. All I want to do is crawl in bed with Brian, who is probably waiting for me. Or not; he might be with a trick.

The streets are mainly empty, but I hear footsteps echoing not far off. I whip my head over my shoulder like a paranoid child, but see nobody. I need to relax. Uncomfortably, I shift my backpack. It's stuffed with art history books and my back aches from carrying them almost as much as my head aches from reading them.

Suddenly, I am grabbed from behind and pulled into an alley. A hands covers my mouth, muffling my scream of shocked terror. Fear races through my body along with adrenaline. I am roughly pushed to the ground, and cruel laughter echoes in my ears.

"Faggot." The insult is tossed at me carelessly, as if I don't even matter enough to properly insult. I blink fiercely in the darkness, trying to distinguish the shadowy forms in front of me. There are five guys, as far as I can see. Because of the lack of light, I can't be certain, but they all look to be a few years older than me.

They surround me, menacingly. I realize how hopeless this situation is. I'm alone, there's no one on the street to help me, and I'm way outnumbered. Shit. I think about pulling out my cellphone, but I think better of it. I wouldn't have time to dial anything before the shitheads smashed it. And then smashed me.

My internal panic must show on my face, for the guy who pushed me, who appears to be the unofficial "leader," laughs again, and says "Awww, is the little homo afraid? Is the fucking faggot frightened?"

I try to stand up and immediately I am rewarded with a sharp kick to the ribs. I collapse, curling around myself in pain, refusing to make a sound. The only thing I can think is Brian. Brian Brian Brian. I need you.

The ringleader speaks again: "Let's give this queer a lesson he'll never forget." And suddenly they are on me, kicking, punching, raining blows everywhere. I can't think, I can't breathe. I feel darkness coming closer, closer. The last thing I see in my head is Brian's face.

*** Brian POV

As I stare out the window, I take a long drag on my cigarette. I exhale in slow puffs, my face blank while my mind is on fire. Where the fuck is he? I know he was studying for some big exam, but jesus christ he should've been home by now. I don't know why I'm worrying. I should be off fucking instead. Sure, I had a trick in the backroom at Babylon, but I didn't feel like bringing one back to the loft tonight. I just felt like fucking Justin.

But I've been here for an hour and a half, and he hasn't come home. Goddammit, I shouldn't be worried, but I am. The little twat said he would be back by three. I mean, he could be off tricking, but I doubt it. He would've called or something. I turn away from the window and begin pacing the loft. Maybe I should just go to sleep. But I can't; I know I won't be able to sleep until I know he's safe. And that bothers the shit out of me.

Putting out my cigarette, I grab my phone and call Mikey. Maybe he went over to work on Rage with him.

"Hey Mikey" I say when he answers.

"Brian, what the fuck?" He says, sleepily. "Its four thirty in the morning."

"Aw, did I wake you up?"

"Uh… YEAH."

"Well, I just wanted to know if Justin was there. Judging by the fact that you were asleep, I'm guessing not."

"Um no he's not here… is something wrong?"

"Don't worry your pretty little head about it, Mikey. Go back to sleep. Or better yet, now that your awake, go fuck the professor."

"Brian, I…" I hang up. Dammit. I try calling Deb, Emmett, Mel and Linds, and even Ted. They were all asleep, except Emmett who apparently was having quite a good time before I interrupted him "Where the fuck are you, Sunshine?" I mutter out loud to myself. I try his phone for the hundredth time, but I get voicemail once again.

Okay, that's it. I slip on a shirt, grab a jacket, put on my shoes and leave, determined to find him. And when I do, he's gonna be in deep shit trouble for not answering his phone.

To be continued...