This is Hunter's mailbox.

Hunter wasn't really looking for Michael...except he kinda was. He hadn't seen him since the whole Parent-Trapesque date thing they'd pulled, and he--well, he wanted to make sure Michael wasn't pissed about it, for one. Plus, he wanted to see if he could figure out if it had changed anything ( Read more... )

[Continued from here.]

It took so much concentration just to open her eyes and look at him. Claire smiled hesitantly, desperately shy and darkly needing...even though she wasn't entirely sure what the need actually was ( Read more... )

Hunter came into the room with a towel around his waist, hair dripping onto the floor as he glanced at the pile of clothes at the foot of his bed and started sorting through it, sniffing for the cleanest stuff. He didn't feel like trying to find decent shit from the clothes box today. Maybe later he'd go do some laundry or something, if Claire didn ( Read more... )

Hunter woke up in his own bed. HIS OWN FUCKING BED. In Pittsburgh. In his home. Without any fucking sand or palm trees or or bizarre shit ( Read more... )

Hunter had promised Roger he'd find Michael and explain things when they'd calmed down. He hadn't promised when, but now that Ben was here, he figured he should do something, before the only family he'd ever known became irreparably fragmented. He had to convince Michael to give Ben a chance, somehow. It couldn't be that difficult; they'd done ( Read more... )