What I Did On My Summer Vacation by Milo Taylor.

This story is the fault of mirror_mirror and citizenjess who requested, respectively, the existence of Milo, Justin's Gay Little Half-Brother (tm), and Brian doing Karaoke. I had the purest intentions to do straight up crack!fic, but after luceononuro betaed it, she held my figurative hand and broke it to me that it didn't count as crack!fic. It attempts to deal with, like, actual issues. And stuff.

So, thank you to _alicesprings and luceononuro for being wonderful betas.

I rate it PG-13. Naughty things are only intimated, not spelled out.


When Milo showed up at the door to Brian and Justin's apartment, Brian was the one to answer it. Brian didn't say anything, just stared at him, and Milo (correctly guessing his identity) was forced to hastily revise the mental picture of Brian derived from Molly’s vague description of the age difference, from "dirty old man" to "sizzling hunk of burning hotness."

"I'm Milo," he tried, and some of his earlier bravado shrank in the face of Brian's massively unimpressed expression.

"Good for you," said Brian. "What do you want me to do about it?"

"I'm here to see Justin," he said, and tried to ignore the nervous adrenaline he’d had pumping through his veins from the moment the taxi pulled up.

Brian's face turned bemused. "And I thought I was the cradle robber," he muttered, then turned. "Justin! Someone's here to see you." And with that he stepped away from the entrance and disappeared. Milo peeked around the corner and actually gasped a little--then he coughed the spit out of his lungs and took a tentative step inside.

The floors were shiny wood, the ceiling was high and white, and everything in between was very expensive and artistically arranged. If it weren't for the jacket hung over the couch, the way the chairs were pulled out from a table crowded with papers, and the collection of cups on the coffee table, he might have felt like he'd entered a furniture catalog. One of those that his mom kept, but never ordered anything from because it was all too expensive.

Brian had circled the table and was sifting through papers, and Milo found his head automatically following Brian The Hot, but he forced himself to refocus on the person who must be Justin. He was descending some curved stairs from a half-loft. His hair was spiked as if he'd been sleeping, and he was barefoot. He didn't look very much older than Milo even though he had to be at least mid-thirties.

"Uh, hi?" said Justin. "Who are you?" Milo could see Brian out of the corner of his eye, ostensibly reading, but Milo was pretty sure he was listening intently.

The moment of truth. He took a deep breath. "I'm Milo Taylor. I'm your brother."

There was a silence. Not precisely uncomfortable, but full of words being digested.

"I--what?" Justin asked. He scrubbed a hand over his face and then stared at Milo hard. Milo stared back.

"Our dads are the same."

"He never told me I had a brother," Justin said. "Mom told me he got remarried. Last time I talked to him was--"

"Five years ago," Brian supplied, helpfully, without looking up from his papers.

"Then I was eleven when you talked to him," said Milo. "And he didn't tell me about you, either." Milo couldn't keep the anger completely out of his voice because it was still so fresh. It boiled up and threatened to spill over whenever he thought about it. It was at least half of what had driven him here.

"How did you know we were brothers, then?"

"My sis--" he stopped and reworded. "Our sister Molly told me. She didn't know that I didn't know. About you."

"Fuck," said Justin. Milo thought he knew the thoughts that were flashing through Justin's head. How could there be such lack of communication about the very existence of someone? How could a parent--even an asshole parent like Craig--not even tell a person they had a brother?

"Can I come in?" he asked, flashing the smile that usually got him whatever he wanted.

"Yes!" said Justin, beckoning him further into the room. He flapped his hand. "Come in. Hey, Brian, I have a brother."

Brian set down the papers he'd been pretending to read and came around the table. He stopped beside Justin, their shoulders just touching. "Is that so?" He put out his hand. "Nice to meet you."

"You too," said Milo and took the hand.

"So why are you here?" asked Justin. And then, "How did you get here?" His eyes flickered toward the door. "Is Craig here?"

"No," Milo said mildly. "My parents don't know I'm here."

"You ran away?" Justin asked, a little exasperated, but not, Milo judged, ready to turn him out.

Brian nudged Justin and smiled. "He's precocious. He's a year earlier than you."

"You ran away to New York when you were seventeen?" asked Milo. Molly hadn't mentioned this. She'd said she'd been really little and nobody told her anything. Come to think of it, that was probably one of the reasons she'd been so forthcoming with him. Molly was kind of fierce ever since she joined the women's rights movement, and she hated not being told things almost as much as she loved holding protest signs and screaming at people. It was one of the things he liked best about her.

"Yeah," Justin looked faintly sheepish but was smiling. "I was living with Brian. He kicked me out. So I took his credit card and ran away to Chelsea."

"Such a drama queen," said Brian.

Justin hit his chest, laughing, “Pot, kettle,” he said, but then turned a serious face to Milo as a new thought occurred to him. "Did Craig kick you out?"

"No," Milo said, surprised. "Mom would kick his ass if he did. But he freaked out when I said that Orlando Bloom was hot. And then military school might have been mentioned, and I decided to, uh, leave." Milo paused and watched Justin and Brian. They were both doing this creepily identical impassive face. Maybe married people really did start to look like each other after a while.

When he'd mentioned Orlando Bloom to his father, it had been deliberate, a test. It had only been only a week before, that Molly had told him about Justin, but it had been at least six months since he'd come to the firm conclusion that he was gay. It wasn't that big of a deal--his friends were all cool with it. They'd barely commented when he made it known. Well, except he and Emily had immediately discussed and drawn up a 'Hottest boys in school' list.

"I knew you lived in Soho," Milo continued. "So I googled your address, got on a plane, and came out. I wanted to meet you." It had been a little harder than that, but nothing he and his super-fucking-expensive fake ID and his summer savings couldn't handle. Though Molly had had to get him the actual ticket. Fucking airline restrictions.

"Welcome to Brian and Justin's home for runaways," said Brian, sounding resigned, but smiling.

"Are you hungry?" Justin asked.

"I could eat," Milo said. He could eat three large pizzas.

"Let's go to the Thai place on the corner," Justin said to Brian. Then he turned back to Milo, "Do you like Thai?"

A year ago, he wouldn't have known one way or another, since dad liked his food bland, but Emily was half-Thai and he'd spent countless hours at her house, plotting ways to stalk Alex Williams (the top of their list), and he usually got invited for dinner.

"Yes!" he answered, enthusiastically.

---

Dinner was spent answering questions in between stuffing his face. Brian became one of his new favorite people when he shoved his unfinished salmon curry across the table and announced, "I'm full. You can have the rest." So Milo inhaled that, too.

Really, they were both his new favorite people. Between Justin enthusiastically questioning him and actually listening to everything Milo said and Brian tossing out faintly scandalous, but hilarious observations and eyeing every hot waiter that passed by, he was hard-pressed to pick a favorite. Justin would answer Brian's comments with something equally as scandalous, rinse and repeat. Milo decided it was one of the best nights of his young life when they told him to order as much ice cream as he wanted for dessert.

"My best friend Emily is totally hilarious and she dared me to pinch Alex William's ass in the locker room, and I told her she was just trying to get me beat up, but then she sweetened the deal with Death Cab tickets, so I totally had to do it." He paused for breath and took the opportunity to eat a little more.

"And?" said Justin, laughing.

"Alex was so surprised he just kind of squeaked, and I winked at him because I didn't know what else to do, and walked out."

"You should fuck him," said Brian.

"That's what Emily said," said Milo.

They both laughed with him.

"I've had him," said Brian eyes glinting predatorily at a passing waiter, "But he has a nice ass."

"I've had him, too," said Justin, off-handedly. "And my ass is nicer."

Brian gave him a 'duh' look, which Justin ignored in order to ask, "So, Milo, are you going to at least call your mom?

"Eventually." He had known it would come around to this eventually. He paused, took a sip of Thai iced tea, considering telling the truth, and decided what the hell, Craig wasn't a popular person around there. "I'm giving her enough time to kick my dad's ass. Then she'll be so relieved when I call that there will be no ass-kicking left for me."

"Smart," said Brian, and he sounded like he meant it. "But it's not going to work. She's still going to be pissed."

"I know," said Milo. "But I'm going to have a really cool vacation first." He put on his best beseeching look and shared it out equally between the two of them. They looked back at him, impassive with maybe a touch of amused. Hard marks.

"I suppose showing you around New York this weekend couldn't get you in more trouble than you already are," said Justin.

"Exactly!" said Milo, grinning out-right before eating the last bite of coconut ice cream.

After dinner, they sat around at the apartment, doing tequila shots (he was only allowed two) and exchanging all of the things he and Justin didn't know about each other.

Justin was a triple threat sort of artist, he found. Justin did any kind of art he felt like and most of it was snapped up by someone, whether it was a graphic design firm or a museum or fans of Rage. And Brian was filthy, filthy rich, and had started to only accept campaigns he wanted to do about three years ago.

On their couch that night, Milo was completely unable to stop smiling. This was going to be an awesome vacation.

---

He woke up in the middle of the night because he had to piss so bad he thought he literally might explode. And Brian, he knew, would never forgive him for exploding all over his Miesian couch. He knew this because Brian had fixed him with a stern look and said, "If you barf all over my Miesian couch, I'll have a new one made from your skin," right before he smiled and followed Justin up the stairs to their bed. Milo scoffed. As if two shots of tequila would make him barf!

On the way back from the bathroom (which was bigger than his room at home and echoed a little bit), Milo almost face-planted at the bottom of the stairs. He heard a snicker as he saved himself.

Justin was standing, shirtless, in the kitchen, holding the carton of milk.

"I do that all the time, and Brian mocks me. Maybe it's genetic predisposition," he said. "Or maybe it's a design flaw in the stairs." Then he offered the milk.

Milo shrugged and took it. Two percent, none of that watery non-fat that his mom started buying when she went on a diet, he was glad to see. He was thirstier than he thought.

When he handed it to Justin, Justin shoved it back in the refrigerator and regarded Milo with a more sober expression.

"Brian some times calls me ‘After School Special’ when I ask stuff like this, but tell me seriously, did you run away because you were afraid of Craig?" Justin flipped a fringe of his hair out of the way.

Milo didn't even really have to consider this before he answered. "Afraid of being sent away to military school?--yeah," said Milo. "But afraid of Craig? Please."

Justin nodded, accepted his answer. He was silent for a moment before he said, "He hit me once. Not that hard. I wasn't afraid of him then, either. Mostly, I just felt betrayed."

Milo was silent for a moment, and then nodded. "He's a good dad. Was, I mean. Until now. But I know what you mean."

"I hope he's learned something since I came out," said Justin.

"Obviously, not enough," said Milo, letting the tiny ache that had been living in his chest come out for the first time since his father’s face had contorted in disgust.

"Even if he hasn't, I'm glad you came and found me," said Justin. "I always wanted a brother, instead of an annoying brat of a sister," he laughed. "Although Molly turned out pretty well."

"Yeah--she helped hatch my escape plan," Milo grinned.

"Good for her," Justin said. He paused then said, "We'll give it three days, little brother, and then you have to call your mom."

"Okay," Milo agreed, readily enough. Honestly, three days was more than he'd been hoping for.

---

"So, this is, like, a Big Famous Gay club, right?" Milo asked. He was unable to keep himself from bouncing a little, although he'd been trying to cultivate Brian's swagger, which he'd had ample opportunity to observe today, tromping all over New York with both of them. (Well, until Brian had announced that he had work to do, Frenched Justin good-bye, messed up Milo's hair, and then caught a separate cab).

Milo and Justin had hit seemingly every major tourist attraction and spent obscene amounts of money because, as Justin said, "What's the use of being rich and famous if you can't use it?" which was a philosophy he wished his dad would adopt, at least for the rich part. Molly had only told Milo, "Justin paints and does other artist stuff and Brian runs an ad agency." They weren't ambushed on the street by reporters or anything, but people knew who he was at most of the museums and offered things like free admission and glasses of wine and usually their curator came out and fawned, while Justin graciously accepted it all.

After a blissful period spent recuperating from their hard touristy work, in a restaurant so expensive it had a view of the city and crystal glassware, Justin had taken out his cell phone (which was amazingly sleek and high-tech, like something James Bond would have) and called Brian to make plans for that evening.

So now they were getting out of a cab in front of a club and Brian paid the driver and Milo felt compelled, for the sake of avoiding embarrassment, to say, "Uh, you guys remember that I'm nowhere near twenty-one, right?" He didn't want his fake ID to get taken away and didn't they have ways to identify fake ones at fancy clubs like this?

Brian didn't respond as he got out of the cab. Justin grinned at him, though. "Don't worry about it."

Milo saw why a second later when they went straight to the front of the looooong line stretching down the block, and the burly bouncer took one look at Brian and stepped aside. "Good evening, Mr. Kinney, Mr. Taylor," he said. There were catcalls from down the line and it took a second for Milo to figure out that it was because Justin had a brotherly arm slung over Milo's shoulder. Justin lazily flipped them all off and they sauntered after Brian. Coolest brother ever.

"Brian owns this place," Justin told him, just before the music took over. Coolest brother-in-law ever, too.

It was too loud to talk, but the half-naked dancing guys pretty much completely made up for that. However, when he'd lost both Brian and Justin in the crowded dance floor, he decided he was thirsty. He'd gotten as far as the ordering a beer before Brian collared him—out of nowhere!—and said, "Not so fast, little Taylor." He gave the bartender a meaningful sort of nod and added, "And I'm sure your mother wouldn't approve."

"But she doesn't have to know," said Milo, and he grinned his best 'I'm so cute you must let me do whatever I want' grin.

"True," said Brian. "And I am not, as a rule, against underage drinking since it's been beneficial to me in the past. But Justin would be annoyed if I let his baby brother get hammered at my club, and I'm not letting you interfere with my sex life."

"Where is Justin?" Milo asked. Brian pointed with his chin. Justin was on one of the dancing platforms, dancing with two guys and dripping sweat. He looked way younger than he was. "Oh," Milo said. It was kind of a shame that they were related because Justin was totally hot.

Brian flashed him an amused look. Oh, had he said that out loud?

"If you'll excuse me, I've got someone to do," said Brian, and he walked liquidly away, flowing like the liquor that Milo wasn't drinking, into the crowd.

Then it was back to dancing. But there was only so much dancing one could do, even as a young gay boy who definitely enjoyed getting groped by all the pretty, half-naked men. Plus, he'd noticed a general current in the crowd that seemed to result in men going in and coming out of a certain door. Milo had always been cursed with too much curiosity.

He saw Brian occupied with someone on the dance floor, and Justin still occupied with several someones on the platform and he deemed it an excellent time to wind his way over to see what the fuss was about. What he found was--well, he wasn't naive, he knew those places existed. But to see it was a lot different. And if he'd still had any doubts about his sexuality, they would have completely evaporated at that point. He didn't really know what to do with himself, but that was understandable since most of his blood had gone south and there was too much he wanted to look at all at once. He kind of just stared and tried to stay out of the way. He had no idea how long he watched, not quite getting up the courage to jerk off, but too fascinated to leave.

Someone bumped him from behind and he stumbled, only to right himself and turn around. A kissing couple had staggered into him and it took him almost a full thirty seconds to recognize them in the dim light.

"Christ," said Justin, shirtless and breathing hard, after he'd seen Milo and nobly wrenched himself away from Brian's mouth. "This is like some sort of cosmic payback for my misspent youth, isn't it?"

"Well, since you asked, Sunshine--yes," said Brian, archly. "What was it you said to me the first time I found you back here?" Brian pretended to consider and grabbed both of Justin's wrists to stop the punches coming his way. "Oh, yes. 'I have as much right to fuck as anyone else'. He said it in a falsetto, grinning.

Justin grinned back. "And you dragged me out and we fucked until your alarm clock went off. My evil plan worked."

Brian rolled his eyes, but turned back to consider Milo. "What are you going to do about your little brother over there?"

"Fucked if I know," said Justin, grinning at Milo now. "There's a reason I'm not a parent." It occurred to Milo that Justin was mildly drunk, although Brian still looked sharp-eyed and sober. "But I am hungry. And if I remember being sixteen correctly, you probably are, too."

Milo, distracted from the hot naked men by the sudden reminder that his stomach hadn't been attended to since that afternoon--and it had to be at least one in the morning now, nodded enthusiastically. "Starving. Famished, even."

"We should go to that one place--" Justin started.

"--With the '80s karaoke and the really good jambalaya," Brian finished. "Let's go."

---

It looked like a dump from the outside but he was pretty sure Brian didn't eat in dumps. Inside, it was definitely more of a dive. Dim and interesting and just-too-shabby-to-be-trendy. They didn't card any of them, even though there was clearly alcohol being served. Justin explained to him that Brian liked it because he got to make crass comments about the singers and their drinks were ridiculously strong. Justin liked it because they made the best jambalaya in town.

Milo ordered an entire pizza for himself. Brian didn't order anything but scotch, and Justin ordered the jambalaya. Sometime in the course of making fun of the karaoke singers and inhaling his pizza, Milo failed to see the subtle shift where Brian and Justin switched places in drunkenness. Brian was now grinning and lounging and knocking back the rest of his scotch just before the waitress replaced it, while Justin was sitting straight and alert and...smiling at Brian in a distinctly predatory manner that Milo was sure (as a tender and impressionable youngster) he shouldn't be witnessing.

As it turned out, Justin had devious, but surprisingly non-x-rated plans for Brian. Milo was contemplating his last piece of pizza and how much it would hurt to stuff it down, when Justin leaned forward and said, "You know what would be awesome, Brian?"

Brian focused on him and suddenly managed a faintly wary look. "What?"

"If someone would sing that one song," he pouted a little. "I can't remember the name. Oh, hey, do you want my margarita?" he shoved his half-finished margarita across toward Brian.

"I have no idea what song you're talking about, Justin," he said, his tone exaggeratedly patient, as he shoved the margarita back.

Justin started to hum a tune which was completely unfamiliar to Milo. He tapped out the beat on the table. A few seconds later, Milo noticed Brian moving his foot to the rhythm, seeming unconsciously.

"Knock it off," he told Justin, over-pronouncing just enough to make it apparent that he was drunk. Then there was a tussle under the table when Brian tried to kick Justin and Justin blocked and easily moved his legs out of the way, laughing.

"I'll just go get you another drink," said Justin. And Milo quickly debated the merits of following Justin to the bar in order to learn "The Plan", or staying and listening as Brian began a profanity-laden treatise on condom brands that should be outlawed for their various flaws.

He leapt up and sprinted after Justin.

"So, how much more alcohol does Brian need?" he asked. Justin smiled a positively evil smile at him.

"By my calculations," Justin paused to glance over at Brian, sprawled and sexy at their table. "A fourth of a shot."

"That's pretty exact," said Milo.

"I've been drinking with him for over a decade," said Justin. He quirked an arrogant eyebrow. "And I'm really good at math."

"Way to hog all the math genes," said Milo.

"Do me a favor and go give this to Brian," Justin said, handing him a tumbler with more scotch in it. "I have to go have a little word with the DJ."

So Milo dutifully set the glass down in front of Brian and innocently ignored the suspicious look, with the ease of long practice. Milo was very good at ‘innocent’ if he did say so himself.

Justin returned and they sat sipping and trading sarcastic comments about the woman with the bad wig singing "D-I-V-O-R-C-E Spells Divorce". When the woman dismounted the stage (i.e. fell off into the arms of a giant group of her friends, maybe some sort of bachelorette party), a new song started. It was techno-y in an '80s sort of way.

Brian shot Justin a look, and Justin fired back with a grin so pure and sunny it was infectious. "C'mon," Justin purred. "You know how hot it makes me."

"Fuck," Brian said, and got up. He walked, liquid and confident, right up on to the stage. Then he grabbed the microphone and proceeded to do an astonishingly good rendition of "Hungry Like the Wolf". Brian could more than carry a tune and his voice had more than enough lazy menace to pull off the blatant innuendo in the lyrics. He grabbed the microphone and growled the chorus. He rockstarred out at the instrumental with some air guitar. Milo honestly wasn't sure whether to laugh hysterically or drool.

“He loves this song, but I can only get him to admit it when he’s just short of passing out,” Justin told him.

The rest of the drunks in the room applauded and Justin jumped up from the table to intercept Brian on the way back from the stage with a porn star kiss, tongues and hands everywhere. Milo, far from shocked, took this opportunity to drink the rest of Brian's scotch.

Brian was looking at Milo as he slid the empty glass back into place.

"Kids today," he said, shaking his head in mock-disappointment. Milo grinned, and, maintaining eye-contact, finished Justin's melting margarita, too.

"You guys are soooo cute," said Milo, shit-eating grin firmly in place.

---

The next day was a Sunday, and they let him sleep in. When he finally woke up around noon, Justin handed him a towel and said, "There's coffee, and it's strong enough to cause acid reflux disease because that's the only way Brian makes it." This earned Justin a tickle attack as Brian made his way back to the room that served as his office. "Also, lucky charms,” Justin choked out, before he had to devote himself to fending off Brian.

"Score!"

Milo tried not to think of how many porn-like scenes had been acted out in the shower (the noises coming from inside it, earlier, were unmistakeable), and concentrated instead on the twin showerheads and the luxury of shampoo and soap so exclusive he'd never even heard of the name brands.

"Hey, do you want to come with me to my studio, or hang out here?" Justin asked, when he emerged.

"Go with you," he said, without hesitation.

Justin's smile made it worth it, and he hadn't even seen the studio yet.

While Justin was giving him the grand tour (a giant white penthouse on the top floor of a warehouse, canvases everywhere, and one tiny bathroom), some strange blond woman wandered in. She was dressed business casual, and she was late middle-age, but still clearly good-looking.

Milo nudged Justin from the painting he’d just picked up. Upon seeing the strange woman, Justin smiled and put the canvas down.

“Mom!” he said. Oh. Oh. Dad’s first wife. Jennifer Swenson ex-Taylor. All he really knew about her was that she liked to date younger men (courtesy of his dad’s drunken ranting).

“Hi honey,” she said, and accepted a hug from Justin. “Who’s this?”

Milo and Justin exchanged a glance. Then Milo stepped forward and smiled. “I’m Milo,” he said. “Taylor.” He paused, not sure what to say next.

“You mean Craig’s…” she trailed off when Milo nodded.

“Well,” she said, recovering quickly. “It’s so nice to finally meet you, Milo.” They shook hands. Then there was an awkward little pause.

“You knew I had a brother?” Justin asked, his voice odd.

“Of course. I didn’t get a birth announcement, but Sheila and I keep in touch sporadically.” She laughed a little. “I know it sounds strange—the ex wife and the current wife sending Christmas cards, but she started writing to me not long after she married Craig and she’s just such a sweet person.” She stopped to look a little more closely at Justin.

“Honey, are you telling me you didn’t know that you had a brother?”

“How would I know,” Justin said carefully, “Unless someone told me? Craig won’t speak to me since…even if I wanted to speak to him.”

“Oh, Justin,” said Jennifer. “I’m sorry. I had no idea you didn’t know, which I guess I should have. I don’t—“ she stopped. “What are you doing out here, Milo? Are you here with your family?”

“He ran away,” Justin said, before Milo could think of a good lie. “He didn’t know about me, either, until Molly told him.” Justin’s voice was carefully pitched, low and deliberate, like he was having to strain to keep it even. “When he came out to Craig, Craig gave him the same line about ‘military school’ that I got.”

“Christ, what a jackass,” she said, her voice suddenly sharp, whereas before it had been sweet and motherly. “But Sheila would never let that happen.” She turned on Milo. “Does Sheila know where you are?”

Milo squirmed. “No,” he finally admitted. In the face of another mom, he suddenly felt shitty about leaving his mother to worry about him. “I was going to call her tomorrow,” he mumbled.

“Call her right now,” she said, snapping her cell phone open with one gloved hand and briskly finding the right number. She shoved it into his hand, already ringing. He swallowed and put it to his ear.

It rang twice and Milo didn’t realize he was holding his breath until the call connected and his mom said, “Jennifer?”

He sputtered a little as he dragged a breath back in and said, “Uh, no. It’s Milo, mom.”

“Milo! Thank god! Are you okay?”

“Yes.”

“Where are you?”

“Um….” He winced in preparation for her reaction. “Soho.”

“Milo Ambrose Taylor,” she said.

“Sorry.” And he was, kind of. Not that he’d done what he had to do to find his brother, but that he’d caused her to freak out.

“Why?”

“Molly told me about Justin.”

There was a moment of silence.

“You found him?” The sternness had abated.

“Yes.”

“I’m glad, sweetie.” She paused and Milo almost wondered if she’d hung up on him. But no. Her voice turned stern again. “And I’m coming to get you. I’ll be there by tomorrow afternoon. Hand the phone back to Jen.”

His prediction had turned out to be partially right—she was so glad that he was fine and safe that she only barely yelled at him, though he was under no illusions that that would be the last of it. He was pretty sure Craig had gotten that ass-kicking, though.

And he still had one more night with his brother.

Jennifer offered to pick her up at the airport when she came in the next day, and it was all settled. Milo was going back to Philly tomorrow. But he wasn’t just going to get silently on that plane. There were going to be conditions.

---

His last night. It sounded so bleak. But Milo, by nature, was not a moper. When he and Justin arrived back at the apartment, Brian was lounging on the couch, reading. Justin filled him in on events and Brian shot Milo a look he chose to interpret as sympathetic, but he didn’t say anything aside from, “What’s the plan for tonight?”

Justin shrugged. “I think it should be Milo’s choice.”

Milo grinned.

Which was how they ended up on a Pizza tour of New York. Brian was no help in this endeavor, though he came along anyway, wearing jeans and sunglasses, like some movie star in disguise. But Justin, having had ten years to eat pizza in this city, was like a little Italian grandmother, waxing poetic about the wonders of each stop. Only, you know, blond and male and gay.

Milo learned to hail a taxi, swear back at homeless dudes, and Brian bought him a faux rolex from some sketchy blanket when Milo begged hard enough.

The tour finally wound down at two am as they were sitting in a diner on a street Milo hadn’t bothered to remember. Brian was drinking coffee—black—and Justin and Milo were eyeing their last three pieces of Canadian bacon and pineapple, over bloated stomachs and half-finished imported beers.

In short, bliss.

Milo never wanted to move again. He wondered how much rent they would charge for this booth. In New York, probably more than he made in a summer.

Which is when Justin asked, “What are you going to do about Craig?”

Milo considered and felt unease try to curl through his too-full stomach. He didn’t know. It was still hard to reconcile the father who had played catch with him and taught him to ride his bike and shown up for every parent-teacher night, with the father who got so angry when Milo came out that spittle actually flew from his mouth.

He shifted in his seat and shredded a pizza crust. “I don’t know. What did you do?”

Justin shrugged. “I stalked Brian until he let me live with him. My mom was still supportive, but she didn’t have nearly the backbone then as she has now. So I built myself a sort of surrogate family out of Brian’s surrogate family. Lots of gay people and…Debbie.” He was grinning.

“Who’s Debbie?”

“Brian’s best friend’s mom. PFLAG chapter president and the dirtiest, loudest mouth in all of Pittsburgh, at least.”

“And bigger balls than all the queers in Babylon,” Brian put in, laughing.

Justin was laughing, too. “She filled in for my mom’s discomfort in my lifestyle, until my mom was okay with it.”

“I think my mom’s okay with me being gay,” Milo said.

Justin nodded and it was a long moment before he spoke again. “I—fuck,” he said. “I know nothing I can really say can make whatever Craig does any less horrible, but you know I get it. If you ever want to call me—“ he cut himself off and grabbed Milo’s cell phone, sitting on the table next to him from when he’d texted Emily a picture of Justin stuffing his face, and proceeded to program his own number into it.

“And—You can come out and visit me any time you want, for whatever reason.” Justin smiled. “It’s not like I’m poor. I’ll fly you out whenever it won’t fuck with your school schedule. That way we won’t just become strangers again when your mom comes to get you.”

“Thank you, thank you, thank you!” Milo said, overwhelmed. He threw his arms around Justin, both of them laughing.

“As touching as this scene is,” said Brian (as Justin kicked his foot under the table.) “I think little boys should be in bed. And I have a conference call to Paris in about an hour.”

---

A leisurely morning of sleeping in gave way to noon, and as the time strolled on, Milo found his anxiety mounting. His mom was going to be pissed. There would probably be a grounding in his near future, as well as a docking of allowance. She’d never punished him with anything more severe, so his imagination ran out after those two possibilities, but he was still apprehensive, as he’d never done anything quite as worrying as running away to another state before.

There was the time when his mom had asked him to paint the living room (part of her attempt to redecorate their house herself), but even that had only earned him helpless tears of laughter at the resulting graffiti of Death Cab lyrics, and a week’s grounding.

But, whatever punishment he got for coming here had been so worth it.

He and Justin sat around in their pajamas, playing Playstation and looking through Justin’s old photos (Brian had been even hotter ten years ago, which shouldn’t have been possible), and generally making up for lost brother-time. The knock on the door came way too soon.

Justin got up to answer it, Milo trailing behind him. Outside stood Jennifer, and next to her, his mom.

“I’m Sheila Taylor,” she said, extending her hand toward Justin. Justin took it and met her eyes.

“Justin Taylor,” he said. “Nice to meet you.”

“And you,” she said. “Thank you for taking care of my son.”

“It was the least I could do for my little brother.” Justin looked slightly wary, but he was very polite. Milo stepped forward.

“Hi, mom,” he said.

“I’m so glad you’re okay, Milo,” she said, her voice cracking slightly and hugged him. “I was so afraid.”

“Would you like to come in?” Justin asked.

“Yes.” She released Milo. “Thank you.”

Milo could see her instant approval of the apartment, and he watched as she lost some of her tension.

“Craig hasn’t told me very much about you,” she said to Justin. “I take it you and your partner do well for yourselves?”

“We’re comfortable,” said Justin. Which was the understatement of the century, Milo thought.

“That was one of the things I was worried about when Milo told us. I was worried his life would be so much more difficult being... But,” she glanced at Milo, “As he told me, things are different for kids now. Craig will just have to change his mind.” She frowned. “No son of mine is being sent to military school.”

“Craig doesn’t like change,” Jennifer put in, wryly.

“It doesn’t matter what he likes,” said Sheila, her voice firm. Justin looked politely skeptical, but said nothing. Milo felt the barest glimmer of hope—his mother was a very stubborn woman—but he didn’t let it unfurl. Better not to set himself up for rejection. Better to wait and see.

They were barely there five minutes, still making polite conversation as Milo dressed and packed, when Brian came through the door, all Armani and perfect hair. He greeted everyone and shook hands with Milo’s mom, just as Justin had done. More than that, he didn’t let one crass comment or curse pass his lips. Maybe it was because he was still in advertising-mode, but Milo entertained the thought that he was doing it for Justin and maybe even for Milo—so that there was a better chance of Milo being allowed to visit. This was all but confirmed by his next actions.

As soon as Brian learned that their return flight wasn’t until late that evening, he insisted on taking everyone out to lunch at some very impressive restaurant. Milo ate with barely-concealed glee as he watched Brian and Justin team up to utterly charm his mom, all unspoken cooperation and subtle, charming manipulation. Milo took notes.

Brian would compliment Milo’s mom, Justin would pick up the topic and expand on it, Brian would gently tease Justin and Justin would smile. Jennifer fit right into their conversations with little dry comments, and somehow she made Milo’s mom fit in, too. He could see his mom losing her bristle, and by the time Milo finished eating (and finished Brian and Justin’s plates, too), he could see that she liked them.

While they were waiting for the check, Justin brought up the subject of visiting.

“I’d like to see Milo regularly,” he said, his face determined and serious. “I’d like to fly him out whenever is convenient for you.”

After a moment, she smiled and said, “Good. I’m glad.”

“What about dad?” Milo asked.

“You leave him to me,” she said, and Milo recognized the stubborn glint in her eye. It was the same one she’d worn when she dragged Milo out of bed every morning, or when dad started to complain about how much money was going to her charities. If anyone could get dad to relent, it was her.

At the airport, Justin hugged him and said, “Remember what I said. If Craig is an asshole, call me.”

“That’d be, like, every day.”

“Exactly,” Justin grinned.

Brian hugged him, too, and Milo felt a hand in his jacket pocket. When Brian released him, he reached in and found the distinctive shape of a handful of condoms. Brian raised his eyebrows and said, “Play safe, little Taylor. And don’t fuck the closet cases.” Luckily, Milo’s mom was on ahead talking to Jennifer, holding their place in the security line, and therefore did not hear that useful piece of advice. Justin looped an arm around Brian’s waist and smiled.

“Thanks,” Milo said, and couldn’t think of anything else to say that could convey the huge bubble of happy-sadness that rose in his chest. Then he turned and ducked under the rope to stand next to his mom.

She turned sharp eyes on him, but her smile was full of humor. “You’re grounded for a week for taking ten years off my life.” She said. “Also, I’m proud of you, Milo.”

Milo figured everything would be okay, then. And if it wasn’t, at least he had Brian and Justin’s home for runaways to run to. As a back-up plan.