The sharp static of the rain pattering against the motel room windows was the only sound between Max and Jack as they sat together on the bed, Max with his head on Jack's shoulder and Jack with his arm curled loosely around Max's waist. Neither of them could really understand how they'd ended up where they were now. All they knew was that there was no going back.

Glancing at the nuclear green numbers on the digital clock that stood on the battered wooden nightstand to the left of the bed, Jack sighed. His breath ruffled Max's white blonde hair. "It's nearly five," he murmured, his voice warm and coarse - like coffee grains, Max always said. "I should get to the subway. Might be able to get some money from all those business people heading home."

Max moaned softly and pressed himself closer to Jack, hiding his face against the ratty black material of Jack's hoodie. "I don't like being here alone," he said, his fist curling around a handful of the jacket.

"I know." Gently prying Max off him, Jack slipped off the bed and crossed to the corner of the room where his guitar, the single most valuable thing they owned, rested against the wall. With no actual address, busking was their only real form of income. Jack figured it was better than nothing. At least it kept them in motel rooms and microwave meals. "I'll only be an hour or so. Don't worry, just... stay in the room. Try to get some sleep if you can." He gazed at Max with concerned eyes. "I know you were up all night."

"I couldn't sleep," Max muttered, sounding almost like a sullen child. He turned his back to Jack and pulled his knees up to his chest, resting his forehead on them now that Jack's shoulder was no longer available. "I won't be able to sleep if you're not here."

Jack picked up his guitar case and slipped the strap over his head, getting the case settled against his back before he replied. "You should at least try. Things are hard enough as it is without you refusing to sleep. You need your rest. Just... try, okay?"

Max huffed, still refusing to look at Jack, but after the long pause he gave an irritable little nod. "Fine. I'll try."

"Thank you." Crossing the room, Jack leaned across the bed to give Max a quick kiss on the cheek. Max tilted his head to accept it but made no move to give Jack a kiss of his own. "I won't be long, I promise. If I get enough money I'll bring in something to eat as well. See you later."

He stepped out of the door and let it swing shut behind him, the wind catching it and making it slam loud enough for him to wince. He glanced back at it, a small crease forming between his dark eyebrows, before he shook his head and headed for the stairs. He couldn't afford to worry about Max all the time - but none-the-less, he couldn't help himself. He loved the guy. What could he do?

ooo

In the hotel room, Max lay down on the bed, curling around one of the pillows in an attempt to sleep like Jack had told him to. His eyes were scratchy and his head ached, but even as he lay there, attempting to think of nothing at all, sleep eluded him, leaving him more and more frustrated with every minute that passed. He tossed and turned, his shirt getting wrapped around him in unnatural ways and it wasn't long before he gave up, clambering out of bed and kicking the nearby overflowing trash can in anger. As a week's worth of litter spilled across the floor he dropped to the edge of the bed, holding his head in his hands and digging his fingernails into his scalp.

All he wanted was to be helpful in some way. Jack did everything he could to bring money in. Playing music in subways and moonlighting as a bartender when he could weren't exactly amazing career choices, but they were better than nothing. And nothing was exactly what Max was doing. He had no idea how to look after himself in the city and he certainly had no skills that could be put to use like Jack did. He could draw... but what good was that? He could do caricatures, perhaps, but there weren't many tourist spots in Blacklight City, and normal, every day people weren't really into that sort of thing. Certainly not into it enough that any money he earned would put so much as a dent in their problems.

Lifting his head, he looked at the mess on the floor tiredly, and slowly slid off the edge of the bed to kneel beside it. As he picked up the various wrappers and bits of junk and tossed them back into the bin where they belonged, he continued to wonder what exactly he could do to make himself useful.

He could steal. He had always had fairly deft fingers. Jack wouldn't object; he wasn't above lifting food from convenience stores when they were desperate. He doubted he'd last long in a prison if he got caught though. He just wasn't cut out for that environment.

He could try selling some of the stuff they had, but they didn't own much - they'd only brought what they could carry in a backpack when they'd left their hometown. They'd been in a hurry. That idea was out.

There were a lot of research facilities in Blacklight City though... He paused, seemingly unconcerned about the days old banana skin in his hand, and tossed the new idea around in his head. They paid people to let them test stuff... and sure, some of it might have weird side effects but it was easy money, and there were hardly ever stories about bad stuff happening to people after they volunteered for this stuff. It would probably be safe enough to take the risk.

As he finished tossing the last of the rubbish into the trash can, Max padded into the little bathroom to wash his hands. His reflection in the grubby, cracked mirror above the sink was thoughtful and just a little excited. He doubted Jack would care much for the idea, but Max needed to do something. He needed to be useful. And this... this could work.

When he was done cleaning his hands he padded back into the main room and picked up the newspaper Jack had brought in the day before off of the nightstand and began flicking through it, feeling hopeful for the first time in the three months since they'd come to this forsaken city.

ooo

Jack plucked the strings of the barely tuned guitar forlornly as businessmen and women strode passed him with the recognisable glint of superiority in their eyes. His music wasn't bad, but the rush of passing trains and the hollow echoing quality the subway lent to his music was not flattering. The occasional passerby deigned to drop a few dollars into his case, but they were few and far between.

After finishing his current song, he placed the guitar down on the ground beside him, leaning it against the wall, then crouched down to check the money he'd earned. Running his fingers through the change, he counted just over seven dollars. "Fuckin' worthless," he muttered. That would just barely buy food for the both of them, and he'd been there for two hours. The concept of generosity had obviously never been introduced to these people.

Yawning, Jack checked his cheap, ratty-looking watch. It was only seven PM, but Max was a neurotic little thing and he hated being alone after dark. Jack shot a glance at the next train that rolled in, but by now very few people of any interest were on board. Most of the businesspeople had been and gone by now. All the people sloping off of the train at this hour were either on their way to the local nightclubs - in which case their money was all reserved for their own alcoholic needs - or they were people who were barely any better of than Jack himself was. He wasn't going to get anything else tonight.

He packed up his guitar quickly, pocketing the tiny amount of cash he'd collected, before turning on his heel and slinking out of the subway like a sewer rat, the guitar case slung over his shoulder on its threadbare strap. No one paid him any heed as he was swept out of the subway in the tide of commuters and as he hurried up the steps and out into the cool night air. In the distance car horns blared and sirens wailed, the natural harshness of the sounds softened. Rain pattered on the concrete around him and within only a few moments of being outside he was drenched.

Still, thoughts of curling up in the motel room bed with Max kept him comfortable and as he split away from the main body of people leaving the train station and headed down the back alley, his usual shortcut home, it never once occurred to him to be wary.

Perhaps it was because he was a country boy, or perhaps it was because he assumed he looked too poor to be a target. Never-the-less, when a man stepped in front of him, blocking his way forward, and a second took a place behind him, ending any hopes of retreat, Jack froze, completely taken aback and without any clue as to how he was supposed to react.

He braced himself, eyeing up the guy in front of him while keeping an ear open for the movements of the one behind. "Can I get by?" he asked, just barely reigning in the aggressive tone that lurked under the thin layer of passivity he was trying to convey. He wanted to fight back. It was in his nature. Instinct told him that in this instance, however, it was safer to hold back.

This wasn't his home town. In the city, people didn't fight with their fists.

The man in front of him, a skin-head in an over-sized green hoodie, stalked forward, squaring his shoulders in an attempt to look menacing. He was shorter than Jack, but built like a bulldog, so he succeeded. Jack stepped back on one foot, turning himself to the side defensively.

"Sure, you can get by," the skin-head said, rubbing his sleeve under his nose and looking around for any witnesses before continuing, "But not 'til you've given us your money and shit."

Jack's fists clenched and he looked from the skin-head, to the guy behind him. Seven dollars. Sure it wasn't much. It wouldn't be the first time he and Max had gone without food for a day. But the guitar? It was the only method available to him to earn money. It was all they had. He couldn't give it up.

Fishing the seven dollars out of his pocket, Jack shoved it at the skin-head. "Take it. That's all I've got."

The skin-head sneered at the measly amount in his palm, then glared at Jack. "The fuck is this? Gimme the guitar too."

Jack shook his head. "This thing's worth less than the seven dollars I just gave you. Seriously, it's nothing but sentimental value. It isn't even worth the hassle of taking it to a fence-"

"I reckon I'll be the judge of that," the skin-head said, before nodding to the guy behind Jack. As he approached to take the guitar from him, Jack braced himself to run, but in his moment of distraction the fist to his gut came out of nowhere and knocked him to his knees. As the guitar was pulled away from him, the skin-head landed a second blow across Jack's jaw. Dazed and winded, there was nothing Jack could do as the two thugs ran off with his and Max's only hope of survival.

ooo

By the time Jack managed to drag himself home, an hour later, Max was frantic. He was standing on the walkway outside their motel room, drenched in rain water, keeping watch over the street as he waited for Jack to return. When he finally saw Jack, limping across the motel car park, he wasted no time in skittering down the slippery metal staircase to his side.

“What happened!?” he cried, skidding to a halt on the wet asphalt beside Jack, slipping an arm gently around his waist to support him. Jack winced when Max’s arm brushed against the cuts and fresh bruises but didn’t pull away, letting Max guide him to the stairs and up to the room. He didn’t answer Max’s question until they were safely locked away and Max had begun stripping the wet clothes from both of them.

“Got mugged,” was all he said, finding that breathing was difficult. He lay back on the bed to make it easier for Max to pull his sodden jeans off. The relief that came with the removal of the heavy, itchy denim made Jack groan softly.

Max didn’t respond to that straight away, instead choosing to focus on stripping them both off. When they were both naked, Max scuttled into the bathroom and fetched a pile of towels. Keeping one to dry himself with, he dumped the rest on top of Jack.

Despite his condition, Jack still managed a broken laugh. "Hos is this supposed to help me?" he asked, craning his neck to grin at Max. "Couldn't I just crawl under the blankets? Or put some different clothes on?"

"No," Max replied, toweling himself off then tossing the damp towel into a corner of the room. He climbed onto the bed beside Jack and began tenderly rubbing his body with the small, hotel towels, being careful not to aggravate Jack's wounds. "If you lie under the blankets you'll get the bed all wet and you only have one set of clean clothes left and you need them for tomorrow."

"You're always so practical," Jack said, with a soft smile.

Max returned the smile hesitantly then sighed as he scrubbed the water out of Jack's hair. "What happened? Who did this to you? I mean... how many were there? Did you recognise them?" He paused suddenly, looking around with an expression that was rapidly turning fearful. "Where is your guitar?"

"Slow down there, baby..." Jack purred, reaching up to run the back of his hand gently over Max's cheek. The movement stretched the muscles in his side, making him suck in an uncomfortable breath, but he fought down any noticeable sounds of pain. He didn't want to upset Max. "I didn't recognise them. They were just... just random guys. And they took the guitar. And the money I made tonight."

Raising one hand, Max held Jack's against his cheek for a few moments, before turning his head to the side to press a kiss to the palm of Jack's hand. "I don't want you to go out tomorrow, Jack," he said, "You might be seriously hurt." His voice wavered, but he sighed and it steadied. "We've only been here a little while and I'm already used to the violence."

Jack watched Max's face for a long moment, taking in his sad little expression, before he pulled his hand back from Max and pushed himself upright, slowly and stiffly like everything in his body hurt. Once he was sitting up, he turned to face Max and leaned in, kissing him gently on the mouth. Max reciprocated eagerly, with quick little pecks and nips at Jack's lips. Max had always had a unique way of kissing - skittish but playful at the same time - and Jack kind of loved him for it.

When he felt Max smile against his lips, Jack pulled away again, giving Max a little grin too. "Relax baby. I know things aren't... working out great for us, but we'll be okay. I know we will. You just gotta keep your chin up and... all those other cliches." He pressed a chaste kiss to the tip of Max's nose and the blonde gave a breathless little laugh, squirming away. "We're gonna be fine. Even if we have to go crawling back to our families... we'll be fine."