"So," said Emilyn, pulling out a chair and sitting next to West. "Who are you anyway?"

"West," he said shortly, starting to look uncomfortable. He pulled his sweater harder around him.

"Where are you from?"

"Connecticut," he said quietly. Emilyn didn't feel like pressing. It looked like West was really uncomfortable with the questioning. She noticed the pain that was evident in his eyes.

"Why'd you come down here?"

He didn't answer her, and she decided she'd pushed too much. There was only so much one could push a boy to talk.

"I'm sorry," she apologized briefly, "it's none of my business."

"It's ok," he said. The quietness in his voice let her know that he forgave her. "So," he said, starting a new topic of conversation. "Who are you?"

"I'm Emilyn," she said. "I have a job with a magazine company down here. I'm currently looking for a place to rent out, but the only thing is that I'm pretty much dirt poor and I don't have any money to rent a place with."

"Will you rent a place with me?" West asked excitedly, almost knocking over his Coke.

Emilyn was a bit startled. Renting a place with a guy? That was sort of weird. Why was he so eager? "Uh…"

"No," said West quickly, after realizing how eager and hasty his words had sounded. "I didn't mean it that way. I'm sorry. You don't have to worry about that."

"Why?" Emilyn wanted to know for sure. She didn't want to be sexually attacked or anything.

"I'm gay," he said shortly, cutting off any other questions she would possibly have. "I'm not interested in girls. I have a boyfriend."

"Oh…"

"And I'm only sixteen, so I can't rent out a place myself. I'm not old enough to be a proper adult. How old are you—no offense of course…"

"Nineteen," she said. He seemed so much younger than her—she never knew three years could be such a large gap.

"See," he explained, "you're old enough. I can pay for part of it and once you start getting your pay, you can pay for it too. I have enough money stored in the Bank of America right now…" he laughed. "I can pay for at least awhile. We'll just find a place that's not too expensive."

"Ok," she agreed. Well, what better plan did she have?

West finished drinking his coke and chucked it in the trashcan. It tasted stupid anyway.

"Hey West," she said, looking at him. "You have to tell me one thing though. Why are you here? A rich kid from Connecticut just looking for adventure? I don't think so."

He looked at her and she noticed tears forming in his eyes. She almost immediately regretted asking him.

"I'll tell you outside," he said quietly.

Pretty soon they were outside, West pulling his jacket hard around him and Emilyn holding on to her frayed woolen sweater.

"You see," he started, "I'm gay. For awhile my brother," his face hardened in pain, "didn't know. Pat—he's my brother—he hated gay people. He was killing them all off. I didn't really realize it until he beat up my boyfriend—Joel—really bad," his voice cracked. "And then he found out and he came after me and… I don't want to think about it anymore. I couldn't live like that. Do you understand?" his eyes looked for understanding in hers—he could see the tears reflected in her eyes. "I loved Pat. I couldn't believe it. It hurt too much…"

Emilyn nodded softly. "My dad killed my mom. That's why I'm here."

His eyes widened in horror. "I'm sorry," he started, bringing up a hand to wipe his tears away. It was then that Emilyn noticed it was set in a cast—probably Pat had done it to him.

"Well, we're here, we're together. We might as well find a place… It can't be too hard. After all, we're in NYC."

They hadn't walked too long when a newspaper hit Emilyn's feet. West picked it up.

"Rooms for Rent," he read. "Cheap."

The place definitely was cheap. The wallpaper was peeling off the walls and glue was visible under it. The light flickered and the sink had weird brown marks on it. There was only one bathroom, and in the room there was one bed. The other could be pulled out of a couch. The place belonged to an old man with a huge potbelly, who was strangely named Everett A. Hiney. He grinned at Emilyn with his yellowish teeth. She looked horrified.

"I guess this is the best we're getting," said West, looking grimly at Emilyn. "I mean, at least for $200 a month."

Emilyn nodded. They'd take it.

West forked over some money and the man left, showing them about an inch and a half of his butt crack.

They waited until he was gone until they cracked up.

"Oh well," said West. "At least we're smarter than all his belly button lint put together."

Emilyn smiled. West—he was a funny one. They'd be fixing this place up and they'd do it together. In New York for one day, already found a friend. Not bad.

Review? My chapter. You probably could tell.