“Tips were shit today,” Dmitri said to his sullen coworker.

The blonde’s name was Drew Celich, and his pale blue eyes were always watching something. His pouty lips were like those of a cherub in Renaissance painting, and as always, he ignored Dmitri as he sat on the bench between their lockers, trading out his dress shoes for a pair of sneakers.

“Earth to Drew,” he said, sitting beside him.

“You’re eighteen, right?” the boy asked, suddenly awake. “No college?”

“I was supposed to go to the Classical Arts School,” said Dmitri.

Drew stared at him. “CAS, in White Plains?”

“Fuckers,” Dmitri groused with a nod, slamming his locker door shut. “They canceled the summer semester and stuck me at home for another year,”

Drew went quiet, his right sneaker still untied and his blue eyes going gray under the room’s strobe. The blond often zoned out during shifts, making him seem unfriendly, but when Dmitri caught him staring at a handsome patron one day, he quickly made the boy’s acquaintance.

“They told us we could restart in the fall. As if they’re doing us a favor by derailing our life schedules.” Dmitri knelt and began tying the boy’s shoe. “I get trying to make amends for canceling after we’ve paid, but that pathetic letter they sent?”

Drew thanked him for tying his laces and then tucked his legs to get clear and rise from the bench. He gathered up his discarded uniform, offering to take his.

“Oh, and after guaranteeing us first claim on dorm rooms,” Dmitri draped his dirty trousers over the young man’s arm. “They turn around and cancel the fall semester because of some asbestos in the walls,”

Drew lingered by the linen bin. “I got that notice, too,”

‘Whoa, serial?” Dmitri bumped into him playfully. “We might’ve been in the same graduating class, huh? What were you going for?”

The young man didn’t answer, lost in his thoughts.

“Earth to Drew?” Dmitri pressed.

He flashed that cocky smile. “I play the violin,”

“I’m a dancer,” Dmitri boasted.

“The only classical dancing I ever did was in grade school.” Drew walked back to his locker, his voice drifting. “My mom enrolled me in ballet for four years,”

“You should’ve stayed with it,” Dmitri said.

“Hey, you want to know the truth?” Drew’s soft inflection always came out seductive. “I didn’t know they canceled summer sessions,”

“Serial?” Dmitri asked, wide-eyed. “Out-of-state students got refunded, but we residents are on hold for next year.”

Something about the blond boy made him hungry, which was strange given his taste for older men. After clocking out, they traded their cool breakroom for the humid night, where the sidewalks teemed with tourists fresh from the mid-town playhouses.

“I’m taking a gap, but I got to work,” Dmitri said with a scowl.

“Working’s not so bad,” said Drew.

Dmitri walked backward, facing him. “Wow, so I broke the news, huh?”

“It’s cool,” he said, smiling.

“No,” Dmitri insisted. “I got to make it up to you,”

“You really don’t have to do that,” he sighed.

“My parents are at a wedding reception,” said Dmitri. “And they won’t be back until last call,”

“Not sure if I’m in the mood for the E train,” Drew said.

Getting this boy to talk, much less committed to going anywhere, proved challenging. Perhaps the blond had a sixth sense about other gays and was steering clear for a reason. Truth be told, most never looked past his alabaster skin and inky hair. That’s how they got hurt.

Dmitri was preparing a new stratagem to ensnare Drew when a familiar face appeared on the subway stairs.

Nikola Kravets bounded across the platform, no longer the lithe fool Dmitri knew from his time slumming in Brighton Beach. His hair had grown long, and in that sleeveless half-shirt were newly corded arms and a chiseled waist.

“What is this?” Niko’s brown eyes glowed. “Dimi!”

“Hello, Niko,” Dmitri droned. “Where’d you get money for a token?”

Drew came between them. “You know each other?”

“See you tomorrow,” said Dmitri, cursing his shit luck.

Niko’s arm draped over Drew’s shoulders as he said goodbye.

Dmitri, meanwhile, boarded the train with memories of Niko’s cock up his ass.

♪

Dmitri resigned himself to avoiding the blond, a plan that proved difficult after Angie assigned him to the Siberia room. They’d worked it as a team before, developing a system that today suffered, with no communication.

After clearing tables, Drew cornered him.

“Did I do something to piss you off?”

“I just have some things on my mind,” said Dmitri.

“I asked for help earlier,” Drew pressed. “And you just blew me off,”

Dmitri spoke curtly. “How about you relax,”

“You know what,” Drew said. “A zone change will help me relax,”

“Don’t switch floors,” Dmitri pleaded, reaching for him.

“I can’t work with you like this,” Drew said, walking away. “You’re being a dick.”

Dmitri followed him into the linen closet.

“Fine. Yes, I have a problem.” He faced the boy’s angry gaze. “Do you really hang out with those guys in Brighton?”

After a pause, Drew softened. “How is that a problem?”

“You know what, forget it. I don’t have time to sit and chat about your boyfriend.” Dmitri made to leave the closet. “I got a double shift ahead of me,”

“So do I, but you followed me in here,” sniped Drew, grabbing some clean tablecloths. “Listen, if you and Niko hooked up once, get over it and do your job without the drama.”

Dmitri’s gut urged him to leave it alone, but he couldn’t.

“I just thought you were different,” he said.

“I’m not part of their gang,” Drew stepped into him. “I don’t even live in Brighton.”

“Those men are parasites,” he whispered. “Don’t let him talk you into getting them a girl to marry. And whatever you do, don’t get drunk around them,”

Drew searched the area before pulling him close.

“What happened?” he asked. “Did he hurt you?”

“Not physically, and not Nikola.” Dmitri chose his words carefully. “Just ask Niko what he does for a living,”

“I don’t care what he does for a living,” Drew leaned against the wall, his unguarded voice comforting. “I’m not that emotionally invested.”

Dmitri felt giddy, wondering if Drew was a full-metal slut like him.

“Tell him to meet you on the corner and not out front,” he told him. “If my brother sees him, he’ll jump to conclusions, and my parents will make me quit,”

Drew’s blue eyes widened. “What the hell happened to you in Brighton?”

“Long story, not enough time to tell it,” said Dmitri, walking back to the floor.

Morning became afternoon while slogging through a hectic double shift. The house was packed for lunch, but he and Drew covered each other’s tables when needed.

After the midday crowd thinned, an older gentleman in thick glasses planted himself in a round corner booth. Clad in a white linen suit, he took meetings late into the afternoon with a revolving door of guests, all eager to impress.

Through tea refills, Dmitri learned the man was a Broadway director, and his visitors were writers looking to get their works produced.

Ten minutes before their shift ended, the tired man called the boys over and proclaimed them the prettiest twinks in Manhattan. Always quick, Drew placed three chocolate mints on the man’s bill and thanked him for the compliment.

The total came to one hundred eighty, and after the man paid with a credit card, he left two fifty-dollar bills on the table.

Drew waited in the locker room, changing with him and clocking out like normal. Tonight, though, they wouldn’t be walking to the station together. Niko waited at the back door for Drew, and Cyril Belyaev stood with him.

Three years hadn’t changed Dmitri’s aging sweet bun. Thin hair capped his perfectly round head, each graying strand trimmed above the ears. Affectionate eyes regarded Dmitri through thick-lensed spectacles.

“It’s been a long time,” said Cyril in Polish. “How are you?”

“You should speak English,” Dmitri teased. “This is the United States,”

“What’s going on?” asked Drew.

“Did you use him too?” Dmitri demanded in Polish.

Cyril’s brow creased. “No one used you,”

“Unbelievable,” said Dmitri, and as Cyril moved closer, the scent of his aftershave tickled Dmitri’s cock.

“How are you, Dimi?” he asked.

“I’m fine,” Dmitri said, desperate to touch him.

“What occurred with the others,” he whispered. “It means nothing.”

Rage captured Dmitri’s heart.

“You talk as if I instigated what happened,”

“Don’t shout,” Cyril said, his lips turned down.

“Are you telling me how to speak?” Dmitri countered.

“Let’s not talk on the street,” said Cyril in broken English.

“I have nothing to say to you,” Dmitri spat, then spoke Polish. “My family told me you were a criminal, and I told them they were wrong.”

Cyril’s lips flattened before a creped hand moved close enough to caress his face. Though he longed to feel its softness, Dmitri recoiled.

“You broke me,” he said.

Cyril’s face became stone. “You were broken long before me,”

Dmitri laughed, ignoring Drew, who called out to him as he walked to the station. Thoughts of his last night in Brighton reminded Dmitri that the old man was right. He was broken long before those men got hold of his body.

Raised voices ebbed his fugue. Far down the platform, an angry Drew descended the stairs with Niko on his heels.

“We have plans,” the tall oaf pleaded.

“No,” said Drew. “You had a plan, and you carried it out,”

Niko growled in frustration. “Fuck me, come on,”

“You had no right bringing Cyril here,” Drew barked.

When the old man caught up to the bickering couple, Dmitri hid behind a group waiting for the next train.

“You don’t know the situation,” he told the boy. “Dmitri and I, we loved. If not for his family, we be together.”

Dmitri smiled behind his hand.

Drew’s anger ceased when addressing the older man.

“You could’ve asked if he wanted to see you,” he said. “Do you know how this makes me look? It looks like I set him up,”

“No anger at Niko,” Cyril begged. “He is good friend to me, Andrej,”

Drew stepped into his open arms for a long hug.

After this, Cyril climbed the stairs, leaving Niko to Drew’s anger.

“I’m sorry,” said Niko. “I didn’t know you were friends with Dimi,”

“Don’t pull crap like this again, understand?” Drew said.

“Okay. I promise you,” said Niko, and when he tried to take Drew’s hand, the blond slapped it away.

“It’s too hot,” said Drew, marching toward the stairs. “Don’t follow me.”

Niko stood alone on the platform, an abandoned puppy.

Dmitri slinked in behind him. “You’re wasting your time,”

“Shut up, you whore,” said Niko, turning.

“Whore?” Dmitri laughed. “You sound so pathetically hetero,”

“You know I’m not hetero,” he leered.

Dmitri moved into his space. “Prison gave you some muscle,”

“Glass Eye is at the place,” Niko taunted.

Dmitri retreated. “I had nothing to do with Sash,”

“You had everything to do with it,” Niko accused. “It’s why Cyril fed you to us,”

“You think he set me up?” Dmitri began laughing. “That’s adorable.”