Not The Sun - 9. Chapter Nine: Discoveries

09 ~Discoveries~

For Brandon, it became harder and harder for him to focus on anything. He was never the most attentive student at the best of times, but now he was lucky to remember what classes he had a test in or on what dates he had a project due. He got bawled out by his Shop teacher twice for almost causing an accident, and in one class, after he was given his test paper, he just wrote his name down and then stared at it until the bell rang and turned his test in, still completely blank. Later on, he couldn't even remember what class it had been. He would stare out the window, or doodle in the margin of notes he was supposed to be taking. Some days he wouldn't even go to lunch, because he couldn't stand to be around anybody, not even his friends. His art teacher, who was quite fond of him, would let him spend the time in the art room, as long as he did something productive, so he would sit a table and draw until the bell rang.

His parents had been really supportive the first couple of days after Leia's funeral. But after his grades fell and the alcohol supply in the house started dwindling, they talked to him, telling him that they knew he was missing Leia, but that sooner or later, life just had to go on. But it was going on without Leia, and he wasn't so sure he wanted to jump on that train just now.

Jordan, the only person that Brandon still wanted to talk to, was trying to help, but seemed a little preoccupied with something... Whatever it was, he didn't seem to want to enlighten Brandon on the subject, so Brandon just left him alone.

Brandon left everyone alone.

Brandon wanted to stop thinking, stop feeling, stop caring. Stop existing.

One day he was at school switching his books out at his locker, and once the bell rang, Brandon just stood in the hallway as it emptied out and discovered he didn't even remember which class he was supposed to go to next. So he just started walking, keeping an eye out for teachers, until he reached the end of the hallway, then kept going, walking outside into the bright sun. He didn't really feel like sitting through class anyway.

Facing a long walk home at the moment didn't sound like such a hot idea either, so he sat down in the back parking lot, shedding his jacket. He leaned back against the wall, rummaged through his backpack and pulled out a flask that was full of Jack Daniels. Good ol' Jack, he was a good friend. Always there for you.

Brandon took a drink, grimaced and tilted his head back. The sun kissed his upturned face, the alcohol already spreading a healthy glow through his stomach and chest. Really, this was life right here. Getting an education was overrated.

He almost felt good.

Almost.

Down the wall a little, another door opened and Brandon grabbed his bag, ready to make a run for it, but the only person who came through the door was Keith. Brandon relaxed marginally, sat his bag back down and took another sip from his flask.

Keith saw him, walked over and sat down next to him without saying anything. He pulled a pack of cigarettes out of his pocket and slid two of them in between his lips, lighting them up. He pulled one out and offered it to Brandon. Brandon took it wordlessly, offering the flask in return. Keith blew out a stream of smoke, took the flask and swallowed a mouthful, then passed it back.

It didn't seem at all strange to Brandon for him to be sitting out here sharing cigarettes and booze with Keith, even though he was sure it would never be something he would do on a normal day. But getting up and walking away from him just seemed too much damn trouble. Besides, he was here first and that little creep wasn't going to chase him away.

Keith eventually finished up his cigarette then stared at Brandon until Brandon stared back. Keith leaned forward and kissed him, hard. Brandon kissed back. It wasn't as nice as kissing Jordan, but not as wrong as kissing Alexis had been. And he knew what Keith was offering and was willing to accept it. Sex with a guy he absolutely despised to round off a wonderful afternoon. Why the hell not? Why not, when his only other option was to go home and miss her some more?

He would take the orgasm.

Jordan sighed and stared at his cell phone. He had called Brandon's cell three times and kept getting his voice mail. He knew Brandon had left school, probably ditched, but he didn't know where he had headed after that. He had already tried Brandon's house, found that he wasn't there and had to listen to Kelly give him a ten minute rundown on why Brandon wasn't cool anymore.

He was worried. He knew that Brandon wasn't doing well and he didn't really know how to help. He didn't want to have Brandon deal with death in the same manner he had.

He picked up the phone and tried Brandon's cell again, with the same result. "Hey, Brandon," he said when the voice mail picked up. "I don't really expect you to call me back, but if you want to surpass my expectations, feel free." He disconnected and threw his phone back on his bed. The pain of a headache was beginning to form, curling around his temples and the back of his neck. He rubbed at his temples with his fingers. He was really beginning to feel like things were out of his control.

Brandon was just being... unwell. He could see the symptoms of grief plainly enough. Brandon wouldn't eat, slept too much, isolated his self... and drinking, lots of drinking. The last thing Jordan needed was a Creator who was developing a problem with alcohol.

On top of that... Leia. There were still some things that Jordan needed Brandon to know about, things that he didn't think Brandon would react very well too. Things that even he himself didn't like to think about. No, he was not looking forward to talking to Brandon, but that didn't mean it wasn't going to happen.

His phone buzzed on the bed and he slid over to answer it. Brandon's name popped up on the caller ID and he raised his eyebrows. Apparently miracles do happen. "Hello."

"Hey." Brandon's voice on the other end of the line sounded gravely, tired and strained... The sound of it caused a quick, not unwelcome pull of arousal in Jordan.

"How are you doing?" Jordan asked.

"I'm fine. Are you okay?"

"Yeah," Jordan said slowly. "Where were you today?"

"I ditched."

"Why?"

"'Cause I felt like it."

"Okay." Jordan rolled his eyes but let the subject drop. It wasn't like he hadn't done worse. "Can we meet sometime this week and talk?"

"Sure. When?"

"Tomorrow, after school maybe?"

"Mmm. I can't. I'm kinda meeting someone. Maybe the next day?"

Jordan smiled a little. If Brandon was going out and doing things with other people, that was a good sign. "Sure thing. I'll talk to you then."

"Okay." Brandon disconnected without saying good-bye. Jordan frowned and closed his phone. His headache had disappeared.

He heard the door downstairs open and shut followed by Dylan's voice calling out for him. Jordan left his room and walked downstairs. His brother was leaning over the dining room table, studying his laptop, but he looked up when Jordan came in and surprisingly enough, closed it.

"Have you had dinner?" Dylan asked. Jordan shook his head. "Well, what do you want?"

Jordan raised an eyebrow. "You're going to cook?" he asked.

Dylan shrugged. "Sure, why not?"

For a minute, with Dylan standing there with his tie hanging loose around his neck in the middle of their too big and too expensive house, it struck Jordan how young his brother looked sometimes. They weren't very close in age--there were eleven long years between them--but they had been close enough growing up. Now it felt like they were worlds apart.

"I can fix that chicken curry that you like," Jordan finally said.

"I'll help," Dylan immediately offered.

"Fine."

Jordan knew that when left to his own devices, Dylan was a disaster in a kitchen, so he took up most of the cooking himself, which he considered only fair. Dylan worked so hard all day, sometimes not even making it home in time for dinner, so Jordan was perfectly accustomed to cooking a wide range of meals. But Dylan could function fairly well if there was someone there to tell him what to do and in twenty minutes they were sitting down to eat.

Dylan asked him about school and Jordan gave him pretty general, generic answers and listened to his older brother talk about work. They did this occasionally--usually about once a month, sitting down and talking and pretending that they had some semblance of a family left with just the two of them. It was nice, a little awkward, but Jordan had to appreciate the effort his brother made sometimes.

Brandon slipped out the back doors of school after classes, making a beeline for Keith's car, knowing he would be out in a few minutes. Strangely enough, he wasn't as worried about someone finding him out here as he used to be. Let them find out. Let them find out he was a fag. Let them find out that he was letting the school loser use him as his fucking sex toy. Like he gave a damn what anyone thought anymore.

Keith came out and drove Brandon back to his house. As soon as Brandon stepped inside, he stopped and stared. An extraordinarily tall woman stood in the dark living room, staring back at him, her arms crossed and looking distinctly annoyed. She had a long mane of cool blonde hair down to her hips with bangs fringing ice blue eyes that were set into a strong, stern face. She wasn't really pretty, but was attractive in a manner that made him think of matriarchs, strong dominant women that fought and screamed in wars as often as childbirth. She was stunningly beautiful in the fact that she was stunningly different, and for the first time in many days, he felt a faint stirring, a desire to draw, to capture her on paper. He felt a movement behind him and Keith was moving around him, approaching the woman.

“Brandon, go wait in my room,” Keith said. Brandon raised his eyebrows, looked at him and then the woman. “Is everything okay?”

“You’re not going to be okay if you don’t do what I fucking tell you to,” Keith said. “Go.”

Brandon shrugged and went to Keith’s room. He knew the way.

When Keith came in, Brandon was sitting on the bed, his hands fisted in his lap. Brandon looked up as Keith shut the door, leaned against it and pulled out another cigarette. "Is everything okay?" Brandon asked.

"It's not any of your business, is it?" Keith said, lighting up the cigarette. He looked excited, almost pleased. "But yes, everything is fine."

"Is that girl your sister?" Brandon pressed, curious. Now that he thought about it, she was the only person he had ever seen in Keith's house.

"Didn't I just tell you it wasn't any of your fucking business?"

Brandon shrugged. "Sorry." True, though, it wasn't any of his fucking business. He wanted to see that woman again. Wanted to draw her. It was the first time he had wanted to draw anything in a long time.

Keith finished his cigarette, crushing the remainder out in a clay ashtray. "Come over here," he said. Brandon got up and crossed the room. Keith pulled him close, kissing him hard and deep. Brandon kissed him back, tasting the tobacco and smoke in Keith's mouth. Keith took Brandon's hand, pressed it against his fly, wrapping Brandon's fingertips around the zipper tab. "Suck my cock," he breathed into Brandon's ear. Brandon lowered the zipper, unbuttoned his jeans with shaking fingers, but let himself kneel down at Keith's feet to take his cock into his mouth. He slid his lips over the warm flesh, let his tongue slide along it and found the entire act to be just as repulsive now as it had the first time. Brandon pressed his lips further down the shaft, feeling the tip of Keith's cock pressing against his throat uncomfortably. His gag reflex worked and he pulled back slightly, let it pass, then took Keith's cock into his mouth again, felt it slide back and breach something in the back of his throat. The next thing he knew, Keith's cock was resting in his throat and his face was pressed against his pubic hair. He held it there for a moment, getting used to the feeling before moving his head again. It was okay as long as he was careful with his breathing and made sure not to try to swallow too much. Keith was gripping his hair and setting the pace, so Brandon braced his hands on the wall on either side of his hips and let him, waited for it to be over.

"Uhhh!" Keith moaned, shoving deeper, making Brandon struggle a little bit to accept him. "Oh God, you little bitch, you're going to make me-" That and a tightening of the hand in his hair was the only warning Brandon had before a warm taste was filling his mouth, a rather unpleasant mix of salty bitterness. Brandon knew what it was and he mentally recoiled even as his body accepted it, swallowing reflexively as Keith emptied himself into his mouth.

Once Keith pulled out, Brandon swallowed the rest of it, then coughed, gagged and coughed again. He was terrified of vomiting, but he managed to keep it down and got back up to his feet. Keith hooked an arm around his neck, kissed him again.

"You taste like me," Keith said, licking Brandon's lips. "You're a damn good cocksucker. It's a shame that I'm going to have to give you up."

"What?"

"Yeah, I'm not going to be able to see you anymore," Keith said, taking a step back and zipping up his pants.

"Why?" Brandon asked. Absurdly enough, he felt a little bit hurt. Was he not even good enough for someone like Keith?

"Some stuff that came up. Don't get all weepy eyed on me. You can find some other guy to fuck that sweet little ass of yours, I'm sure, if you want it that badly." Keith pulled out another cigarette. "Do you want me to return the favor? Suck you off?"

Brandon shook his head, wrapping his arms around himself. He didn't feel the least bit aroused anymore. He just wanted to leave. Keith shrugged. "All right. Grab your stuff; I'll drive you home."

When Jordan came home that evening after running some errands, he found Brandon sitting on his front steps. He was more surprised by the smile pulling at his lips than he was at seeing Brandon there in the first place. He got out of his car, went to meet Brandon.

Brandon smiled at him as he approached, a shy, uncertain smile, not his usual grin. And he didn't even make an attempt to get up from the stairs. Jordan, a bit nonplussed, sat down on the stairs next to him. "Hey," Jordan finally said.

"Hey," Brandon answered in a quiet voice.

Jordan scrambled for something to say. Seeing the energetic, boisterous, flirty Brandon sitting here like a dead man was unnerving. Even in his grief about Leia, he had been furious, full of emotions, swinging from one end of the spectrum to another. Brandon was passionate, full of feeling, somewhat like the antithesis of him. "How did you get over here?" Jordan asked.

Brandon didn't lift his eyes. "I had someone I know drop me off."

"Andrew?"

"No."

Jordan tried to think of something else to say, something to figure out why Brandon was sitting here besides asking him outright. But he was completely taken aback when Brandon leaned over and rested his head on his shoulder. "Are you okay?" Jordan asked.

"No."

Obviously, Jordan thought. Ask a stupid question... "Wanna talk?" Jordan asked.

"In a minute," Brandon said. He lifted his head and Jordan could see his eyes were shot with blood and red rimmed. "I've just... I was waiting for you and I've just had a lot of time to sit here and think about different things is all."

"You wanna go inside?" Jordan offered.

"No... I'd rather stay out here if I can, for a just a few more minutes."

"Sure. What's up?"

"I-I think I just got dumped."

"Oh," Jordan said. He didn't even know that Brandon was seeing someone. "I'm sorry."

Brandon chuckled a little, shook his head. "No, don't be. I'm relieved, actually. I didn't even like the guy. He's... disgusting. I don't know why I... in the first place." Brandon scratched the back of his head. "I know this is lame, but can I just hang out for a little bit? I don't want to go home."

"Sure thing. Does your family know?"

"Yeah. I told my Mom that I was going to a friend's house for dinner. That doesn't mean you have to feed me or anything, it was just something to tell her so she wouldn't worry."

"Don't be stupid, of course I'll feed you. C'mon."

Brandon sat in the kitchen while Jordan fixed dinner. Brandon had offered to help, but Jordan had insisted that he not because “he was the guest”. So Brandon instead sat at the large island in the center of the kitchen, sketching and talking to Jordan.

The first thing he drew was the woman he had seen at Keith’s house, just because she interested him so much. He was more curious about her now because of Keith’s unwillingness to answer his questions about her and had become unreasonably defensive when Brandon had asked.

Didn’t I just tell you it wasn’t any of your fucking business?

Who was she? Another lover? Was she the reason that Keith had suddenly lost interest in him?

And was he complaining? Hell no.

After he drew that picture, he flipped the page and started to draw Jordan, just because he could. He wanted to tell Jordan that he looked cute while he was cooking, but couldn’t figure out a way to phrase it so that it sounded like a compliment.

“So who dumped you?” Jordan asked.

Brandon felt his face heat up. “Just some guy I was seeing.”

“When were you going to tell me you were gay?” Jordan asked.

Brandon smiled. “The whole ‘I want to fuck you’ speech I made at the track didn’t make it clear enough?”

Jordan grinned and turned red.

“Besides, it’s kind of a new thing,” Brandon said. “I haven’t told anyone yet, not even my parents or my friends. Except for the guy I was with, you’re the only one who knows.”

“I won’t tell a soul,” Jordan said. “Not if you don’t want me to.”

Brandon shrugged. “I don’t think it matters that much. If people find out, that’s fine. If not, that’s fine, too. I‘ll have to tell my parents eventually, but I think my Dad kinda thinks I‘m gay anyway. Just from the way I dress and stuff.”

Jordan didn’t say anything. Brandon finished his drawing of Jordan, turned the page and started one of Leia. It had been a long time since he had drawn anything, and now that he had started doing it again, it felt so good that he didn’t want to stop. He was almost a little sorry when Jordan told him dinner was ready, but that disappeared once he took a bite of the food. It was really good, pasta with onion and peppers and bacon mixed in with some creamy sauce.

“Where’s your brother?” Brandon asked.

“He had to work late,” Jordan answered. “He’s not usually here for dinner.”

“What does he do again?” Brandon asked.

“He’s a lawyer. Got into it right after my parents died. He’s really busy with work. It used to be to make sure he could make money to take care of me... Social Services was ready to take me away and put me into foster care. Now it’s just habit. I don’t think he could slow down if he wanted. But he doesn’t; he likes his work. Easier than raising a teenager, I guess.”

“How old is he?” Brandon asked. He only saw Dylan briefly, but he had looked young to him.

“Right now he’s twenty nine.”

“Oh.” Brandon poked at his pasta. “Would you mind if I asked you how your parents died?”

“Car accident,” Jordan replied. "I was eleven years old; Dylan was twenty two or twenty three, in college. My mother just had a baby.... another boy, my younger brother. I had gone over to see him after school the day he was born. He was so ugly, all red and wrinkly, and his face was all kinda smashed looking, but I loved him anyway. They named him Matthew, Mattie. He was a little premature, so they kept him at the hospital for several days, and I was at school when Mom and Dad went to pick him up. They were on their way home when a car ran a red light and hit them. My dad, he was driving, was killed instantly, as well as Mattie. My mom died several hours later, in the ER... They couldn't stop the bleeding..." Jordan closed his eyes, swallowed. "They found out that Mattie's car seat was defective... It didn't hold him in the seat like it was supposed to when the car got hit. I don't know if that would have changed anything or not. I would like to think it wouldn't, because it hurts too much to think that he could have been saved." Jordan snorted. "But Dylan took full advantage of that one and sued the hell out of those people who manufactured the car seat.

"I stayed with him for a while. He had lived right down the road from us. He grieved, I grieved. I missed a bunch of school, had to repeat a year. We were both pretty fucked up for a while. He finally decided we needed a change of scenery, a fresh start, away from all those old ghosts. We moved to Chicago and my brother, who had gotten a taste for the courtroom, used some scholarships and part of the court settlement from the accident to get through law school. I had fallen in with some unsavory people there, so when he graduated, he moved us again... brought me here, where it was a little quieter, more calm. I realized how awful things had been while I was in Chicago, how close I had gotten to hitting rock bottom and decided to try and start over here."

Jordan took a deep breath, then got up and left the room. Brandon thought about going after him, but he hadn’t looked upset or anything. Jordan returned a few minutes later, showing Brandon a framed photograph. “That’s my mom and dad,” he said.

Brandon looked at the photo, saw a man with wire rimmed glasses, and receding brown hair with a little bit of a middle aged paunch standing next to a willowy blond with Jordan’s blue eyes and a gentle smile with crow’s feet and laugh lines. Like any other pair of parents you could find in any home.

“This is Mattie.” Jordan continued, holding up another photograph. A baby was yawning, with mittens over his hands and a little blue cap on his head. His head was long and almond shaped. Brandon smiled. “He’s cute.”

“He is, isn’t he?” Jordan said. “I was so excited. I couldn’t wait for them to bring him home, couldn’t wait to help take care of him. I wanted to be the best older brother in the world.”

“I think you would have been,” Brandon said.

“Well, we’ll never know now, will we?” Jordan said. He took the photos back and left the room again. Feeling like they weren’t going to be eating much more that evening, Brandon picked up the dishes and carried them to the sink. When Jordan came back, he helped wordlessly.

“I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to bring up bad memories,” Brandon finally said when the tension and silence became unbearable.

“Don’t be. If I didn’t want to talk about it, I wouldn’t have,” Jordan said.

“How did you deal with it?”

“I didn’t. I ignored it, ran from it, and it landed me into a lot of trouble. The kind that I definitely don’t want to talk about.”

Brandon scraped bits of pasta off a plate and rinsed it under the stream of hot water. “I wish people didn’t have to die.”

Jordan, who briefly thought that it was one of the most immature things he had ever heard in his entire life, nodded.

“Me, too.” He took the plate that Brandon gave him and placed it into the dishwasher. His vision blurred and slurred, and when Brandon passed him another plate, it slipped through his fingers and shattered on the floor.

Brandon turned when Jordan dropped the plate, seeing the pieces of porcelain split on the floor and the tears in Jordan eyes.

“Shit, Jordan, are you okay?” Brandon asked.

“Yeah,” Jordan said, his voice cracking. “I just-”

“No. Never mind,” Brandon said, stepping forward and hugging Jordan. Jordan resisted for a minute, then let himself lean into the hug, let his arms wrap around Brandon. He swallowed back the tears that wanted to come. His emotions were strange. Sometimes he could talk about his parents without any problems; to the school counselors, the therapists, the social workers. Other times he would talk about his parents and it would all come back, the big looming tidal wave of grief that would crash over him and drag him away. He pressed his eyes shut on the tears, focused on other things, the crunch of the broken china under their feet, the weight of Brandon’s arms around his back, the sound of the other boy's breath.

Jordan pulled away, just a bit, just a little. “I’m okay,” he said.

“Are you?” Brandon said softly, looking at him. “Are you sure?”

Then Brandon was leaning forward, kissing him softly. One hand remained on his back; the other slid up to touch his face, a gentle brush of fingertips on Jordan’s cheek, his neck.

Jordan found himself letting himself be kissed, drawing comfort from Brandon's lips against his, and lifted his hands to comb them through Brandon's hair and rest at the nape of his neck. This was okay because it was Brandon, the angry, immature boy who confused him, amused him, frustrated him and tempted him. But most of all, it was the only other person he could trust right now, the only one he felt like he could talk to, the only one who he thought might understood what he was going through even a little bit, because he had gotten a bitter taste of what death did to a person himself. And it felt so good just to be kissed like this.

He opened his mouth under Brandon’s, letting his tongue come out and gently touch against Brandon’s lips. Brandon willingly opened his mouth, let Jordan's tongue come in, sweep against his, explore his mouth, press against the roof of his mouth and scrape against his teeth.

Brandon didn’t know how long they might have been able to stand there in the middle of Jordan’s kitchen kissing with the night closing in outside and the cracked broken dinner plate still underneath their feet if his phone hadn’t gone off with a long, trilling ring.

Jordan pulled back, looking at him for one moment with cloudy eyes before he stepped away and went to the closet to get a dustpan. Brandon sighed in a mixture of relief and disappointment, answering the phone. It was his mom, asking him when he was going to be home. He promised her soon and bent down to pick up the larger pieces of broken porcelain, taking care not to cut himself. They didn’t talk about what had just happened.

Jordan dropped Brandon off at his house then drove back. Dylan still wasn’t back when he pulled up in the drive. Jordan hated coming home to an empty house, and just because he had gotten used to it didn’t mean he liked it any more. He went upstairs and took a shower, then sat down in front of his desk, thinking.

Brandon had kissed him. Brandon had kissed him and he had liked it. It wasn’t like it had been before, when Brandon had pushed him down onto the bed and forced kisses onto him. It had been similar to the kiss that Jordan had given Brandon the night after Leia had died. A kiss that spoke of comfort instead of passion. And it had felt good enough for Jordan to allow it, lengthen it. Jordan touched his own lips with his fingers. Brandon had tasted sweet... like the air after a rainstorm, when everything was clean and green. And Jordan didn’t mind being kissed. Jordan didn’t mind the idea of being kissed by Brandon again. Jordan didn’t mind the idea of being involved with Brandon in other ways either. But was it okay to think of your Creator like that? Would letting something develop between them be a bad idea? It could potentially ruin their Enabler/Creator relationship.

Usually when he had a problem that involved Creating and Enabling, he asked Dalaja, but he didn't think he would feel comfortable asking her about this one. When he had first met her, he had a huge crush on her, but that had gone away, and now he felt a kind of sisterly affection for her, but that was it. But still... he needed advice.

He turned and clicked a couple of keys on his computer, sending Dalaja's system an invite. The screen opened up and he only saw Nikki, sitting nearby and working on something on an easel. She glanced over and smiled. "Hey there, Jordie."

"Hey, Nikki."

"If you're looking for Dalaja, you'll have to check back later. She's out."

"Actually, is it okay if I talk to you?"

Nikki frowned. "Is it important?" she asked.

"No. Sorry."

"No, no, Jordan, don't-" She sighed and Jordan saw her throw a piece of chalk into a basket before she turned and moved closer to the screen. "I didn't mean that the way it sounded. I'm just frustrated right now. Sorry. Talk to me."

"Is everything okay?"

"I'm all right. What's up?"

"Well... you and Dalaja have worked with a lot of teams, right?"

"Yeah."

"Have any of the teams you've worked with... have the Creator and Enabler ever been romantically involved? That you've been aware of?" Jordan fought the urge to look away or fidget. He didn't want to look as nervous as he felt. God, this was hard.

"Well, Jordan, most of teams we see are fairly new. The Creators and Enablers, at the point where we usually see them, are just getting to know each other."

"But, later on, if feelings were to develop, would you consider that to be an advantage or disadvantage?"

"To the relationship in the terms of being a team?"

"Yeah."

"Well, I suppose it could be advantageous if it strengthened the bond between the two. But it can also be dangerous. When you work with someone with the level of intimacy you see between Creators and Enablers, it's somewhat natural for an attraction to develop. But in the same way those strong emotions can strengthen a bond, if those feelings turn toxic, it can do a great deal of damage to the relationship later on as well."

"So you wouldn't advise it."

"That's not what I'm saying, Jordan. Every team is different. Every relationship is different. There isn't a universal answer to a question like yours." Nikki stared at him for a minute. "What's going on between the two of you?"

Jordan felt his face turn hot. "I probably shouldn't tell you, but he's made it clear he is interested in me. And tonight, I found out that I'm not adverse to the idea either. But I don't know if it's a good idea to let this happen. I mean, how might this affect our relationship as Creators and Enablers?"

"Well, Jordan, I'm hardly the one to give relationship advice. I mean..." She sighed and pushed her glasses up, rubbing at her eyes. "I can only tell you to evaluate what a relationship would mean to you and him, and how you think that would affect your relationship. If it's something you both want, I think you should go for it. If you are worried about how it might affect your relationship later on, I would suggest talking to Brandon about that first, maybe setting down some ground rules for your new relationship. But that's all the advice I can give you. You're not the first team to go down this route, I can tell you that."

Jordan bit his lip. "There is one problem."

"What's that?"

"I'm not gay. He is, but-"

"Jordan, should you be telling me this?"

"He doesn't care who knows. He told me so. But the fact of the matter is that he's gay, but I'm not. But I'm still... I've...I'm just pretty sure I'm not gay. But I still like him."

Nikki shrugged. "So you're not gay. So what? You still like him, right?"

"Well, yeah, but-"

"Jordan, have you ever heard of a man named Kinsey? Alfred Kinsey?"

"He was a scientist who studied sex, right?"

Nikki smiled and actually blushed a little. "Yes. And he created this scale called the Kinsey scale that people use to measure sexual orientation. But what is cool about this scale is that it doesn't classify a person as just a straight person or just a gay person, but it has all of these areas in between. So, technically, just because you have an attraction to one male doesn't mean you have to be gay. Just the same way as if Brandon happens to find a woman attractive doesn't mean he has to be straight. I mean, there are a lot of gray areas out there. I've known people who have been straight almost their entire lives and then meet someone special and fall in love with that someone and they happen to be the same sex. And that person doesn't decide that they are suddenly gay. They still identify as a straight person who just happened to fall in love with someone of the same sex. See? I mean, I wouldn't even worry about being gay or straight or whatever. I would just concern myself about how I felt about this person and whether I would want to be with them. But that's just me."

"It's good advice, Nikki. Thank you. You've given me a lot to think about."

"You're welcome, sweetie. And whatever you decide to do, best of luck to you."

"Thanks. I'll let you get back to work now. Tell Dalaja I said hi."

"Will do, Jordie," Nikki said, smiling before she disconnected. Jordan sat back in his chair, thinking. He got up and went downstairs, grabbed a magazine from Dylan's study and opened it to the first ad he found, for a perfume. It had a guy and girl in a sultry embrace. Jordan stared. The girl was hot. She was staring out of the page with dark eyes, dark hair, dusky skin, shirt sliding down her shoulder and miles of long legs exposed. The guy was... well he was handsome. He could admit that. He was wearing a pair of low slung jeans and an open shirt revealing toned muscles. But while it was easy for him to fantasize about the girl, to imagine kissing her, touching her, he couldn't picture himself doing the same to that guy. He flipped through several more ads, came across a guy in a suit. Nothing. A girl in a flirty fun dress, smiling as her hair flew up around her face. Yeah. He sighed and closed the magazine. He didn't like guys. He still liked girls. But now he liked Brandon, too.

Maybe Nikki had a point.