Issac was sitting on his couch with a blanket around his shoulders and his arms desperately clutching the mage doll. He was hugging the crocheted thing because he needed comfort, and that rare commodity was sorely lacking in his life. When you became famous, even internet famous, people quickly showed their true sides. So, even with the sea of police officers in the room, he had no one here, and no one to call.

You could call Dalton, a voice whispered in the back of his head. But, he dismissed it. There was no way a man like Dalton would ever stoop to giving Issac some much needed emotional support. It just wasn't something he would do. He was a professional, not Issac's babysitter.

Other than his agent, there wasn't a single person on his phone list, that would even think of coming to his aid. Not without wanting something in return. And it wasn't like his parents were in a position to come visit him. They lived on the other side of the world. If he called them, all it would do would upset them.

The police swarmed the place, taking photos of the spot on his shorts and the box. A few men walked into his apartment wearing hazmat suits, and Issac's eyes widened. “Should I be worried about that?” Issac pointed to the two wearing the suits.

The detective beside him shook his head, “It's simply protocol. I'm sure there's nothing to worry about, or they'd clear the whole room before opening the box.”

The young man couldn't tear his eyes away from the two men in suits as they carefully opened the box with a sharp blade on the end of a pencil-like handle. Once the box had been opened, and the plastic bag that sat inside was pierced, a stench like nothing Issac had ever smelled, permeated the room. The guy felt the back of his throat water with that telltale sign, and Issac dropped the doll and blanket. He ran from the room and into the bathroom, where he lost all semblance of sustenance into the commode.

A hand rubbed circles on the middle of Issac's back, and he was grateful someone was there, even if it was a stranger. He felt like he was in a nightmare, and having someone, anyone, standing guard at his back was a godsend.

XXXXXXXXXXXXX

After a shower and some packing, Ink found himself pulling into a parking space in front of some ritzy looking townhouses. He kicked the stand down on his motorcycle as he turned off the engine. He stuffed his gloves into one of the pockets of his leather jacket and removed his helmet.

Ink pulled the piece of wadded up paper out of his other pocket and replaced it with his keys. He looked up at the swanky buildings, then checked the address he was given. After Benton told him he was moving, Ink had called Moose.

“Oh, hey, babycakes,” She said when she answered her phone.

“What have you done, Moose?”

“What do you mean, what have I done? I've saved you from couch surfing. I've given my sexy gay boys their living room back, and I've helped another person, who you're about to meet, feel safe in his own home again. If anything, I deserve a medal for this one. I'm such a good person,” Moose said, then let out a wicked little giggle.

Andy, AKA Moose, was known for her penchant for ulterior motives. Especially when it came to gay men. Ink had a feeling all of this was actually so that Benton and Tomas would be able to get back to their more intimate ways, without his big ass being in the way. Moose was, after all, the biggest fujoshi he'd ever met. A fujoshi was a “Rotten Girl,” a term coined in japan for women who loved reading and/or seeing gay men together. Moose wore the title like a badge.

“Listen, Ink,” Andy's tone became serious, “I've been worried about you. I know how much you like helping people, and this boy needs major help. He was crying when he called me, and he told me he was going to quit making his videos. Those videos help us loads, but the thing is, they help him more. Other than the occasional date, I don't think Issac goes out often. I mean, he's practically a shut-in. At least when he's making videos, he gets a little social interaction with his fans.

“Now he has a stalker terrorizing him. Issac is scared, Ink. He really needs you there,” She'd barely paused for a breath as she unloaded all that on him.

“Really, Moose? You're not exaggerating?” Ink groaned. Andy knew he wouldn't say no. Not when there was someone he could help. Even if all he wanted to do was curl up in a ball and disappear, he'd still go help this kid.

“I couldn't be more real about this, bubby,” Her voice softened, “Please do this for me?”

Damn it. She used “bubby.” Andy had used that “brother” endearment on him, ever since he'd saved her from a mugger back when she first started working for SlideRuleGames. It was his kryptonite, and she knew it.

“Okay, fine. I'll do it,” Ink sighed.

He sighed again as he hitched his army duffle higher on his back and readjusted the straps. He walked down a pathway between two buildings, turned a corner, and knocked on the door marked 42 A. He heard the light tone of a man's voice as he spoke to someone. The voice was getting louder as it came closer, which allowed Ink to listen to what he was saying.

“-ot yet. He might be at the door now. Hang on a second while I answer it.”

The door opened as a man with light brown hair and slight scruff on his face, pulled the handle. He was fairly small in stature for all that he was only a couple of inches shorter than Ink's Five foot eleven.

Before the programmer could say a word, the man's hazel gray eyes widened and what color the guy had, disappeared from his cheeks. The man, who Ink assumed was Issac, froze. His phone slipped through his fingers and clattered onto the marble entryway. Ink was pretty sure he heard the screen crack. Issac gave an ungainly shriek and slammed the door closed.

Well... Things looked to be going just fine. Just fine...

Was it too late to go back to Benton's couch?