Brian sighs. This is exactly the way he wanted to spend his Saturday afternoon.

He hears the loft door squeal back on its track, but doesn’t look up. Hears Justin’s bag thump loudly on the floor, and ignores it. Presses the fingers of his right hand against his forehead and tries to concentrate.

“Hey,” Justin says.

Justin’s hand on his shoulder, chilly even through the thick fibre of his sweater, and Brian lets Justin spin him around, raises his head to the kiss. Brief press of cold lips, breath warm with mint. And Brian fleetingly considers ditching the work on the proposal, grabbing Justin around the waist and tumbling him onto the desk. Shakes his head and pushes Justin away. Gently.

Justin snatches one of the carrot sticks before pivoting back to the kitchen. “So, I’m walking through that side street by the parking lot on Bleeker, and guess what was on the ground?”

Brian wishes his brain would stop focusing on the ‘sex’ part of ‘Middlesex’ and come up with an idea that didn’t involve naked men in hardhats.

“A sock,” Justin says. “One sock.”

“Hmm,” Brian says.

“I wonder about stuff like that,” Justin says around a crunch of carrot. “One sock. Like, how did it get there? Who takes off a sock on the street in the middle of winter?”

Brian taps his pencil on the desk.

“Couldn’t be from fucking,” Justin says. “We’ve fucked outside plenty and I’ve never once had the urge to take off my socks.”

Brian’s mind flashes on Justin in the alley outside Babylon, cheek kissing the bricks, shirt rucked halfway up his back, low keening noises hanging in the night air and mixing with the muted music of the club. He shifts uncomfortably in his seat.

“It might have dropped out of someone’s laundry,” Justin muses. “But there’s no Laundromat in, like, a ten block radius of Bleeker.”

“It’s an enigma,” Brian murmurs.

“And wouldn’t you notice if a sock just hopped out of your laundry basket?” Justin asks.

Brian wonders exactly what Justin took while he was out with Daphne.

“I think you’d notice,” Justin says.

Brian looks up. “Justin?”

“Hmmm?”

“Trying to work.”

“Oh.” Justin bites his lip. “Right. Middlesex?”

Brian grunts.

“Okay. I’ll just make some lunch.”

Brian turns his attention back to the proposal. He reviews what he knows of the client, and pulls out a yellow pad to make several notes. Feels the beginning of an idea niggling at the back of his brain.

“It’s just weird,” Justin says.

Brian closes his eyes.

“I guess maybe somebody could be walking along and get a pebble in their shoe,” Justin considers. “And then he stops to take off his shoe and sock to get it out.”

Brian opens his eyes. He carefully places his pencil on the blotter. And he rises from his seat, glancing cursorily at Justin, who has stopped putting together what appears to be a cheese sandwich in order to ruminate on this latest possibility.

“But why wouldn’t he put his sock back on after he got rid of the pebble?” Justin asks.

Brian walks unhurriedly to the bedroom and slides the dresser drawer open slowly. He removes a pair of Justin’s sports socks, tosses one back into the drawer, and walks steadily back down the stairs to the window. Braces himself for the rush of cold air before pushing it upwards.

“That’s what I don’t get,” Justin says. “One sock. How does one sock end up in the middle of the street?”

“Justin?”

Brian waits until he has Justin’s undivided attention. Then he drops the sock out the window.

Justin’s mouth drops open. “You… shit.”

Brian lifts a shoulder. “Mystery solved.”

“You,” Justin laughs as he rounds the kitchen island, “are going to pay for that.”

And as Justin swoops in, Brian knows he’s not going to get any work done on the Middlesex account for the rest of the afternoon. And he’s perfectly okay with that.