New story! Yay! :D I got this idea by watching videos from 413 Hope Street (Jesse was in it) online. I felt maybe it could make a nice fic so . . . here it is.

I don't own RENT, 413 Hope Street, or the character names in Restaurant. Sad, but true. :(

Tom Collins (known as Collins) practically ran eight blocks from the subway station to get to work. He'd just gotten out of school and didn't want to be late. He was never late. After power walking for about three and a half blocks, the Moondance Diner came into view. He hurried to the diner, burst in the door, ran to the kitchen, pulled his time card out of his pocket, and clocked in.

"Mr. Thomas Collins is on time as usual," Quincy, a cook who worked at the diner, said. He, the rest of the cooks, the waiters, and waitresses applauded as Collins rolled his eyes.

"I don't see how you do it, Collins," Chris, a waiter and Collins' friend, said, tossing an apron at him. "I mean, you go to school then you come straight here and get more work done than I do." Collins was busy putting on his apron while Chris talked. "And I'm usually here before you."

"I believe in hard work," Collins replied, picking up his pad and pencil. "Which is somethin' you don't have any personal knowledge of, lazy ass." Collins put the pencil behind his ear, took his backpack off, and placed it on the floor.

"You made it just in time for the Wednesday lunch rush, Collins," Quincy said. "Which means your boy toy won't get to see you at the usual time tonight." Everyone, save Collins, laughed.

"Fuck you, Quincy," Collins replied, trying to hold in his laughter. Quincy put his arm around Collins' shoulders.

"I only tease cause I love ya," he replied. "So how is little Toby?"

"He's not little," Collins said. "He's only one year younger than me."

"What made you think I was talkin' about his age?" Quincy smirked as Collins pushed his arm off of him. "I'm kidding, damn. Why are you so sensitive?"

"That's my boyfriend you're talkin' about," Collins said. "And, for your information, he has a very big-"

"Keep that to yourself," Chris interrupted. A man in khaki pants, a long-sleeved, buttoned shirt, and a tie walked into the kitchen.

"Boss man's in the area," Quincy announced. He saluted the man, causing everyone to laugh.

"At ease, Quincy," the man said. He turned to Collins. "Where is your friend, Tom?"

"Um . . . I have no idea actually, Mr. Watson," Collins replied. As if on cue, Roger Davis, Collins' friend, walked into the kitchen and stopped in his tracks when he saw Mr. Watson.

"Late again," Quincy said. "For the fourth time this week. That ain't good, Roger." Mr. Watson turned toward Roger and scowled.

"Look, before you start yelling, let me explain," Roger told Mr. Watson. It was silent for a moment. "On second thought, I really don't have anything to say. Just start yelling."

"I'm not going to yell at you," Mr. Watson said, making Roger smile. "I am, however, going to dock your paycheck." Roger's smile faded. "We can't afford late employees, Roger. Especially on Wednesdays." Mr. Watson looked at the rest of his employees. "Carry on." He then left the room.

"Rog, I thought you said you were gonna cut last period so you'd be on time today," Collins said, giving Roger an apron.

"You should know me better than that, Collins," Roger replied, putting the apron on. "I cut last period because I hate history class."

"If you're late again, you can kiss your job goodbye, Roger," Quincy pointed out.

"He's right, man," Chris agreed. "You should try to be more like Collins."

"Nobody asked you guys!" Roger retorted.

"You three can fight later," Collins said as he gave Roger a pad and a pencil. "Right now, we have work to do." He, Roger, and the rest of the waiters and waitresses grabbed several menus, left the kitchen, and headed to their assigned tables. Collins and Roger's tables were right next to each others.

"Check out the guy sitting at your table," Roger whispered to Collins. The person was very pale and looked about Roger and Collins' age. A backpack was sitting next to him. "Dude, I think that's Todd." Todd was a boy that went to their school.

"You're right," Collins whispered. "What the hell happened to him?" He walked up to Todd and forced a smile. "Hey there, Todd. Welcome to the Moondance Diner. I'll be your server for today. Can I start you off with a drink?"

"I'll just take a lemonade," Todd said with no emotion whatsoever. Collins scribbled the word 'lemonade' onto his pad and gave Todd a menu.

"I'll be right back with your lemonade," he said. He went to several different tables and repeated what he'd said to Todd before returning to the kitchen. "I got drinks here." He gave the list of drinks to Quincy.

"Great," Quincy replied, starting to fill glasses with the drinks on the piece of paper. Once he was done, he put them all on a tray. Collins picked the tray up left the kitchen again, and delivered the drinks while taking orders, purposely going to Todd last.

"Have you decided what you'd like?" he asked the pale teenager.

"Just give me the daily soup," Todd replied.

"Cup or bowl?" Todd looked up at Collins and arched an eyebrow. "Cup or bowl?"

"Bowl." Collins scribbled down his order and headed for the kitchen again as Todd took a pair of scissors out of his backpack.

"He ordered the daily soup?" Roger asked Collins once he was back in the kitchen waiting for the orders to be filled.

"Yeah," Collins replied. "I think there's somethin' wrong with him. He's been in here before and he always orders the same thing."

"Maybe he wants to switch it up a little," Quincy said, putting soup into a bowl and putting the bowl onto a tray. "You should take his food first and ask him about it."

"I'm coming with you," Roger said as Collins picked up the tray and went back to the dining area. When he and Collins got to Todd's table, he wasn't there. Collins sat the tray on the table and tapped a random customer on the shoulder.

"Did you see where the guy that was sitting here went?" he asked.

"I think he went to the restroom," the customer said. Roger and Collins both headed to the men's restroom and found Todd staring at himself in the mirror, clutching his scissors.

"Todd, what's goin' on?" Collins asked, his eyes not leaving the scissors. Todd stared at him.

"The fucking human immunodeficiency virus is what's going on," he replied. "I'm not gonna live with this shit."

"There are places you could go to get help coping with having it," Roger said.

"Roger and I will even take you there," Collins added. Roger gave Collins a look.

"I've already made up my mind," Todd said.

"Look, we get how you feel, but-"

"Oh really?" Todd interrupted. "What stage are you in?" Both Roger and Collins were silent. "I guess you don't 'get how I feel,' do you?" Before another word could be said, Todd stabbed himself in the stomach with the scissors. Collins ran to Todd and struggled to take the scissors away from him, not noticing that the scissors had cut his arm during said struggle. Quincy entered the restroom as Collins, Todd, and the bloody scissors fell to the floor.

"Why're you guys in-" he stopped himself in mid-sentence and his eyes widened. "Holy shit!"

"Call 9-1-1!" Collins exclaimed, keeping his hand over Todd's wound while trying to calm him down.

"What exactly happened here?" a paramedic asked Collins, Roger, and Quincy. Collins, his shirt stained with blood, watched as Todd was placed on a stretcher and put into an ambulance.

"He tried to kill himself with a pair of scissors," Roger answered. All of the customers were staring out the windows of the diner at what was happening. Mr. Watson walked over to Collins, who was staring at the ambulance as it pulled off.

"Are you going to be alright, Tom?" he asked. Collins nodded slightly.

"Yeah . . . I'll be fine," he replied.

"Are you sure? You look a little dazed."

"It's just . . . he used to be so happy."

"People change, Tom." Collins was silent for a moment. "You should go wash that blood off your shirt." Collins looked down at his shirt and nodded. He then went back into the diner and into the restroom before taking his shirt off and letting water run into one of the sinks. As he put his shirt under the running water, Roger came into the restroom carrying a mop.

"What are you doing in here?" Collins asked him.

"Watson's making me clean up the blood in here," Roger replied. "I hate that old bastard." Collins chuckled. "It's not funny!" Roger stared at Collins for a while. "I don't think that blood's gonna come out." Collins sighed.

"I think you're right," he said, turning the water off. "Hand me a paper towel, will you?" Roger did as Collins asked and, as Collins reached for it, noticed that there was a cut on his forearm.

"Collins, where'd that come from?" he asked, staring at the cut.

"Where'd what come from?" Collins replied, drying his hands.

"That cut on your arm." Collins looked at his arm and saw exactly what Roger was talking about.

"I don't know," he answered, putting the now wet paper towel over it. "It wasn't there before I got-" Collins stopped talking before he could finish his sentence and froze. "Oh. My. God." He turned the water back on, put his forearm under it, and scrubbed the cut with the paper towel. "No, no, no, no, no!"

"What's wrong?" Roger asked. Collins scrubbed harder. "Collins, what's the matter with you? You're gonna take your skin off." Collins dropped the paper towel in the sink and turned to his friend.

"I think I got this cut from the scissors Todd's blood was on," he said, his eyes wide. "Todd . . . has HIV." Roger was speechless and could do nothing but watch as his friend continued to scrub his arm.

How was that for a first chapter?

Review please.