Javan Dei Imella looked out upon the nighttime city, squinting his eyes ever so slightly against the lights imprinted against the dark sky. He propped his upper body against the window frame, his arms crossed over his bare chest, apparently deep in thought. The small apartment was dark, save for a few lit candles; the overhead light flickered, and it drove Javan crazy.

Ending up in a god-forsaken place like this certainly had not been on the man’s list of things he had hoped to achieve in this city, and, for once, he really could see no way out of his predicament, nor could he find some way to turn it for the better. He was trapped, living in a crappy two room apartment above the club he was now being forced to work at.

An ugly scowl flashed across Javan’s normally very attractive features as he thought about his situation, but the look passed almost as soon as it appeared. He had long since come to the conclusion that wallowing in self pity would get you nowhere. Of course, he was rather used to leaning on his fame and good looks to get what he wanted, and being in a new place where no one knew his name was a little disconcerting at the moment. A small sigh escaped is lips; poor, poor pitiful Javan.

The man walked slowly to his tiny bathroom, shaking his head slightly as if to rid it of these troubling thoughts. After washing off his makeup and brushing his hair and teeth, he made his way to his bedroom, stripping off his clothes for the umpteenth time that day. The bed welcomed him, but Javan didn’t go to sleep for several hours, tormented as he was by his current state of affairs.

Today was a pitiful, horrible day. And not only was it not his first pitiful, horrible day that month, but the fifteenth. In a row. His lover had gotten into a pitiful accident (It wasn't his fault that horses didn't like to be in the dark with stupid boys playing paintball in the middle of the woods at midnight and trampled him), and he was scared that he wouldn't make it. But, of course, his good buddy Basil was there to scoop him up on his feet after he'd drank himself into a coma in the bar, taking him up the stairs to where he knew a bathroom was.

However, Gordon had made his way down the hall to the living arrangements for some of the dancers.

"Hey, no! Gordo, it's this--"

But a door had already been opened and the dazed and confused redhead burst into the room, stumbling in and colliding with a small, rickety old chair. Green eyes were darker and sadder than they should have been. He slowly made his way around the apartment, seemingly chasing something. He ran right into Javan and hugged him tight, flopping onto the bed with him and passing out, dead drunk and crying sadly.

Sighing in the doorway, Basil chewed his lip gently. "H-hey... I..I, uh... 'm sorry 'bout tha'.. He's not doin' too good tonigh', uh... Here." Leaning in, he moved forward to try and pry his friend's death grip from the other. Or, he should say, loose grip that turned to death when he was touched. "...fuck. I...I uh... Want me to try an' wake 'im up?" It was very obvious from his accent that this wasn't where they lived. The three of them were all from Mississippi, a small town called Ducatel. What they were doing way out here in Vegas was something that nobody would ever guess. Well, they would if they knew the group of three.

Javan was just on the verge of sleep when he heard the distinct sound of his apartment door opening. Startled, he furrowed his eyebrows and sat up, pulling the blankets around himself as he heard someone stumbling around in the other room. This was not something he had expected while being here; he suddenly wished that he had not left his rather large pocket knife in his coat pocket. Though he was skilled and tall enough to handle most people who would try to hurt him, a drunken two hundred pounder was not within his skill to subdue, and there were plenty of them down in the bar when he had left.

With these thoughts in mind, it came as a great surprise when the intruder passed out on his bed. The anxious look on Javan’s face was instantly replaced with irritation as the man’s arms wrapped around his slender waist. He snapped his head in the direction of the other who had entered the room, at the same time trying to untangle himself from the first man’s embrace.

“Yes…” The man’s voice was clear and cold, and his eyes were hard as fired steel. “You should keep your…” he searched for the right word, “friends in check, sir. I was nearly asleep.” Javan managed to wriggle away from the man on his bed at this point, pulling the blankets with him as he stepped onto the cold floor, sending the other toppling on the ground. “Now please leave, I don’t need this right now.”

"'Ey, now. Don'tcha go bein' all mean 'bout it, 'e don't really need ya to be a jerk t'him, too. His lover's dyin', an' yer bein' a jerk! Geez, he's so emotional righ' now, yadon't needa freakin' dump 'im on th'floor..." Worried, Basil leaned down and hefted his friend up, sighing and shaking his head. "Yer such a cold person... Maybe this really is the perfect job for ya."

And with that, the boys headed out for the door.

Javan’s eyes hardened and narrowed as he listened to the younger man’s little speech. He chose to ignore it, keeping his cool very well under the circumstances, but his back stiffened at the last comment. He almost whipped around and socked the guy right in the face, but instead relied on several deep breaths to get his temper back under control. Other people’s opinions didn’t matter in this place; it was hard enough having to deal with his own self criticisms without others thrown in the mix as well.

The sound of the apartment door closing faintly reached Javan’s ears as he attempted to slow his heartbeat. He walked slowly to the door and locked it, not wanting anymore incidences to happen that night. He then proceeded to make the bed once more and settled down, hoping that this wouldn’t interrupt his sleep too badly.

Early the next morning, a knock came at the door, following what had sounded like some shouting downstairs.

The boy from the night before, by far less drunk and much more apologetic, waited outside the door, not bothering to argue with the bouncer that had followed him up to the room.

"Sir, I'll have to ask you to leave." He sounded more threatening by the minute.

"I jus' gotta talk t'this guy, okay? Jus' a sec, I'll be gone, soon." It was a very obviously country-hick-ish accent, when he spoke, and you could tell even through the door.

Javan squeezed his eyes shut for a second as he woke to someone knocking on his door. He had barely slept the night before, and was not at all pleased about being woken up. He sat up slowly and rubbed his face, pulling a brush through his hair as he stood up. After grabbing a towel and wrapping it around his bare waist, he walked to the door and yanked it open, quite prepared to completely roast the idiot who had woken him up. His mouth was half open before he finally realized who was standing in his doorway.

"You're...that kid from last night." Javan stepped back into his apartment, keeping his face pointedly blank. "Can I help you?"

((Really short, sorry. It's been a loooong day.))

"Y-yeah, i's me." Nervousness flooded his veins as Gordon stood there, looking down at his calloused hands, then past them at his worn, scuffed boots. Shuffling a little on his feet, rather awkwardly, he sighed slightly and knotted his hands together, eyes sliding closed.

"I jus' wanted ta say tha' 'm really sorry fer what I did las' night. I wasn' really m'self, an' I'm havin' kinda a tough time righ' now. I ain't even from 'round here... Ya ever hear 'bout a town called Ducatel, Mississippi? Tha's where 'm from... I's a real small town wit' a sugar mill an' a real nice gas station wit' a lil' diner inside..."

Pausing a moment, he seemed to realize he was rambling, and he blushed slightly, reaching into his pocket.

"I, uh, I know ya worked las' night, an'... I fel' bad fer jus' bargin' in on ya, an' I figured if yer livin' in here, ya prolly don't got a lotta money..." He held out a rather large wad of cash; there had to be at least a grand there. "This is somma muh savin's... I thought maybe y'all could use it better 'an me, an' it's the leas' I could do t'say 'm sorry..."

(( That's okay. xD I really wanted to write, so I'm sorry if you don't like big posts. D; ))

Javan continued to stare at the man in front of him, barely listening to him speak after about the first three words. The kid had woken him up for this? A small sigh escaped through the man’s lips as he waited.

“I don’t want or need your money, kid. People get drunk, I’m used to it.” Javan gently pushed the money away and leaned against the doorframe. It made sense now, however, why the man had bothered to come apologize; he wasn’t from around here. Anyone from the big city would have just forgotten about hits little incident and left Javan to rot in his predicament. Of course, he would still rot here; there was nothing this country boy could do about what had happened, and Javan had already accepted his fate.

“Just go home, okay? I’m sorry about your lover, but the city is no place for…someone like you. You’ll only get hurt worse if you stay.” Javan turned and walked back into his apartment, not bothering to shut the door. He pulled on some pants and flopped into the chair in front of the window, waiting to see if the man would take his much-too-obvious bait or not.

((I don't mind long posts, I've just been having some trouble getting to the computer. Marching band just started and my internet has really annoying caps.))

Looking down at his hands a moment, before pocketing his money, he stepped cautiously into the apartment and moved over to Javan, crouching before him and looking up into his eyes. "Hey... That ain't no way t'talk about things... Can I at least buy y'all breakfast? It'd make me feel better..."

Those large eyes he gave the other were full of begging and needy shimmers of tears beginning to bubble up. If there was one thing Gordon wasn't afraid of, it was crying. Sure, he didn't do it all the time, but he wasn't the last to do it, either. "Please?"